


Life is But a Dream

by ThrownOuttheWindow



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Mention of Kidnapping, Mention of Violence/Blood, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:25:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 60,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrownOuttheWindow/pseuds/ThrownOuttheWindow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam disappeared nearly twenty years ago.  So why is Kris seeing him now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is my first story ever, and since it's kinda creepy I decided to post it in honor of Halloween. I have plans to continue this story, but as I am super busy with school and work I don't know exactly when I will get to do that. So be patient with me! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it :) PS feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks so much.

Adam was standing right in front of him.

No. That couldn't be right. There's no way--it had to be a trick of the light or something. A hallucination of sorts. Adam couldn't be there. 

Because Adam was missing. 

He'd been taken by some creep when he and Kris were just kids. That had been nearly twenty years ago, but no trace of Adam ever turned up. 

A full investigation was carried out in the years following Adam's disappearance. But the police found nothing. They even knew the man who had taken him--some party magician who had been performing at Adam's friend's birthday celebration. There were plenty of people that unknowingly bore witness to Adam's kidnapping. 

But by the time the obligatory twenty-four hour missing-persons time constraint was over, Adam and the man had totally vanished. There was no sign of them anywhere--nothing to follow. No leads whatsoever.

The case went national--search parties were launched all across the country for any hint of the missing ten-year-old boy. But nothing. 

All across the country, headlines talked of the "Magician Who Actually Made a Boy Disappear."

As the years went by, support for the investigation and searches dwindled. The detectives became cynical, considering it a hopeless case. With the frustrating lack of leads, media outlets stopped mentioning it, since it ceased to be newsworthy. Eventually, after about ten years, all coverage of Adam's story stopped completely. 

Adam's parents split up and moved away from their hometown a few years after that. With the police station basically telling them that their son was dead, they decided to begin a new chapter in their lives. They could start over--and divorcing and moving away was the only way to do that. 

But they had to still be holding out hope for Adam. It was hard not to. Without a definite answer, it's almost impossible not to let a tiny part of your mind think he's still alive. Especially with all these stories coming up on the news in the past few years--of women getting rescued after being held captive for over ten years. It could happen for Adam. It's possible he could somehow make his way back.

Although Kris never thought it likely that he himself would ever see Adam again. He never let that tiny part of his mind believe that Adam would ever be standing right in front of him. 

If he was ever found, Kris knew he'd go to his parents. His brother. His family. Adam certainly wouldn't go to his childhood friend who lived nearly a thousand miles away from their hometown.

Yet, despite all of that, there he was. Directly in front of Kris, about ten feet away. 

Cloaked in all black. A black shirt, vested with a slick leather jacket over it. Black jeans. Even his hair was black--so different from the ginger mane he was sporting the last time Kris saw him. 

In fact, he looked completely different. Hell, he was twenty years older--he was bound to have changed a little bit. The freckles that used to pepper his face were no longer as prominent, and the baby fat that he'd still been carrying at age ten had melted away to make for a lean, chiseled body. And his hair was spiked up perfectly.

He looked like a different person. But Kris would recognize that smile anywhere. The bright grin with the vaguest glint of mischief that always came out when he was disobeying his parents. The sight sent a chill down Kris's spine. Adam's eyes sparkled with delight.

But how could it be? How could he possibly be there?

Kris felt his voice catch in his throat. He wanted to call out to Adam, but he physically couldn't. The lump in his throat was too big.

Hesitantly, Kris took a step forward. More than anything Kris wanted to race over to Adam and pull him into a giant bear hug, but he thought it better to approach him slowly. Just in case.

As his foot fell, he didn't hear a sound. Normally there was a scuffing of his shoes when he walked. But there was nothing. And Adam seemed to be growing fuzzy. And Kris's surroundings seemed to melt away.

Kris's head felt faint. Everything faded out of his vision. Everything was immersed in black.

Somehow, he felt lighter. More air than before rushed through the darkness and rushed into his lungs. He breathed deeply while swimming in the space. For a while, he lingered in this nowhere.

Until he came to in his own bed. He felt his pillow beneath his head, the sheets twisted around his legs. The first thing he did was sigh--half-relieved and half-disappointed that it had all been a dream.

Opening his eyes slowly, he felt his brain grow heavy again with groggy consciousness. He felt like groaning but couldn't will himself to make the noise. 

A sharp pain sliced through the haze. His left forearm pulsed with some sort of stinging. He felt something liquid trickle down his arm. Furrowing his eyebrows, he drew back the blanket with his right hand so he could check it out. 

His eyes widened when he saw the source of his pain. On his forearm, the words "Help Me" had been carved into his flesh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I got such sweet feedback from the first chapter of this story, I felt super motivated. So I wrote the 2nd chapter! I promise there will be much more Adam in the next chapter. I'm not sure when exactly I'll have that one ready, but just a warning, it probably won't be as quickly as I did this one. It may be a few days. Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this one. Thanks so much for reading! PS feedback is still greatly appreciated :)

Blood dripped from Kris's wound in steady droplets. One fell to the sheet below him, staining the fabric red. He placed his right hand over the wound to stop any further damage to his bedspread. His mind went completely blank as he rose from the bed and shuffled over to the bathroom.

Feet scraping the cold hardwood floor on the way, a shiver snaked its way through his body. But he was in too much shock to be able to think about what could have possibly happened.

Quickly he got to the bathroom and immediately rushed toward the towel rack to pick one up. He ran the thick towel under the faucet to moisten it before rubbing his forearm with it. 

Gently he dabbed at the skin to clean it up. The cuts hadn't been too deep, but he still gritted his teeth as the stinging sensation ignited once again. The corner of the towel was morphing into a faint shade of scarlet, so Kris moved the material a few inches to use a fresh part of the towel.

His mind buzzed with bewilderment. How was this possible? Did he do it to himself while he was sleeping? 

After another minute, Kris tossed the towel to the counter. The bleeding had stopped, but the marks were still an angry red color. The bloody message stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his skin. He couldn't help but stare at it—poke it, run his fingers over it—and internally ask himself questions.

As he grew increasingly frustrated with his lack of knowledge in the situation, the fog of sleepiness began to lift from his head. Every time he blinked, he saw Adam's smile lighting up the darkness. But he ignored it. 

He knew there weren't any sharp objects near his bed, so he couldn't have possibly done it to himself. His heart began to race as he thought of the implications. "So if I didn't do it," Kris found himself speaking aloud. He gulped, eyes narrowing at the words marring his skin. "Somebody else did. . ."

Immediately the thought of an intruder entered his mind. Sure, someone must have broken into his apartment, taken nothing, and carved an eerie message into his arm. It made perfect sense. 

Kris let out a huff, more frustrated than ever, and closed his eyes. Adam's smile was there again, intense with brilliance—and his blue-grey eyes were bright with joy. Kris allowed his mind to float back toward the dream he'd had. 

His brow wrinkled at the thought. Because that didn't make any sense either. 

For a while after Adam first disappeared, Kris had extreme night terrors. He'd wake up in his bed screaming, drenched in sweat, heart threatening to explode. Ever since then, Kris's mother had taken him to a therapist that prescribed him sleeping pills. Ones that blocked out all the nightmares that Kris would have had—ones that blocked out all dreams in general. 

A creature of habit, Kris continued taking these pills as an adult, too. Since he relocated from Arkansas to Los Angeles a few years back, he now has video-conference sessions with his therapist and receives his prescription electronically. 

And because of this, he was able to become normal. Despite the trauma of losing his childhood friend at an early age, he was still able to become a normal, functioning adult. One who hadn't had a dream in almost twenty years. 

Until now. That's why the thought of him dreaming—especially dreaming of Adam—struck Kris as so disturbing. 

But thinking back, trying as hard as he could to will himself to recall, he could not remember taking his pill last night. Hurriedly he padded over to his bed again and grabbed the pill bottle from the night stand. He kept it close to his bed so he'd never forget to take one. 

Quickly he twisted the cap off and dumped the contents of the bottle onto the flattest part of the mattress. Kneeling down at the side of the bed, he began fingering through the pile of capsules, counting. His mind raced to figure out the correct calculation. 

"It's a three-month supply, so there's ninety pills total. I video-chatted with Parker on the 25th of July. I got the package two days later. . ." His brow furrowed as his thoughts processed. "And yesterday was October 14th. So if I had taken a pill last night, there should be ten left."

He rifled through them, dropping them back into the pill bottle as he counted them. "Nine. . . Ten. . ." Kris's heart sank as he dropped the last one in. "Eleven. . ."

Sighing heavily, he rubbed his hands over his eyes and leaned foreward to rest his head on the edge of the mattress. 

Jerkily, he screwed the cap off the bottle again and shook one pill into his palm. He laid it down on the night stand, bright purple in contrast to the brown wooden surface. "That's not gonna happen again," he vowed to himself, rising to his feet and heading toward his closet to get ready for work.

~*~*~

"You okay?"

It was Ashley, who worked in the cubicle next to him. She'd walked into the break-room when Kris had first started eating his lunch. She'd raided the vending machine before sitting down across from Kris. Spreading her multiple bags of chips and packages of candy out on the table, she scooted her chair closer. Her hands idled on the bag of chips she was about to tear apart, and she leaned forward to peer into Kris's face. 

He knew he was acting strange. Normally he and Ashley would make a show of flirting with each other, chatting and joking around. But Kris wasn't in the mood today. He couldn't keep his mind off the strange occurrences from earlier. 

All day so far he'd been unable to do any real work. He'd just stared off into space, thinking about his dream of Adam, and he'd played Solitaire on his computer. Luckily he had a corner cubicle, relatively far away from most everyone. But Ashley was keen enough to take note of his oddities.

He glanced up and smiled half-heartedly at her. He knew the notion, his lips curling but not meeting his eyes, would do nothing to reassure her, but it was all he could muster. "I'm fine."

He'd kept his voice light, but something in his tone must not have been convincing enough. Ashley squinted at him. "Normally, you look hella fine. But today. . . You really don't look so good, Kris." Her eyes softened with sympathy. "You're kinda pale. You sure you're not sick?"

Kris had to look away from the affection in her gaze. There was no way she would understand his predicament. He didn't understand it himself. He simply shook his head. "No, really—I feel fine." 

Typically, he'd appreciate the fact that she was so worried about him. But given the circumstances, it didn't give him much comfort to know that Ashley was observing him so closely.

Silence descended upon the room, thick with tension. Ashley stared at Kris for a while. 

He squirmed, thinking of what would run through her mind if she found out. He wore a long-sleeved button-down to hide the marks on his forearm, but what if she could see through it? The material wasn't that thick. She'd think he'd done it to himself. She'd think he was crazy.

Unable to handle her scrutiny any longer, Kris threw the remainder of his lunch back into his bag and rose from the table. "I really am okay. But thank you for your concern, Ash." 

He slid his chair under the table and walked toward the door of the break-room, eager to get back to his cubicle and do nothing.

 

~*~*~

Kris got home from work pretty late. The Rolling Stone office—his office—was in downtown L.A., but he lived about twenty minutes out of the city. Traffic was always a bitch leaving Los Angeles after getting off work. He sat on the freeway for over an hour. 

By the time he entered his apartment, he could hardly keep his eyes open. Considering what happened, he'd gotten a relatively good night's sleep the night before, but everything else was taking its toll. Doing nothing all day at work had drained him, and the stress he felt over his predicament exhausted him. 

Not bothering to turn out the lights or even change out of his work clothes, Kris flopped down on his bed. It took all the willpower he could gather to grab the pill he'd set out earlier and swallow it dry. 

Within seconds, he was out.

~*~*~

Kris was driving his car. It appeared to be the freeway into downtown Los Angeles. Judging on the familiarity of the road's curves and the sky-scraping palm trees that lined the edges, Kris surmised it was the street that he usually took to work.

A heavy vibration pulsed through his back-pocket, startling him just a bit. His phone was connected to the car through Bluetooth, so on the next pulse, the bleat was matched with a melodic ringtone that poured out of the speakers and echoed through the car.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Kris touched the screen on the dashboard, pressing a button to answer the phone. The noise of the ringtone was replaced by silence—it almost sounded like static. But that was just a side-effect of his cell's speaker-phone feature. 

"Hello?" Kris greeted. He hadn't checked the caller ID earlier.

"Hey, Kris." The voice was familiar. But it didn't stick out to Kris at all. He couldn't distinguish it.

So he just pulled a name out of the dark. Hoping against hope. "Adam?"

"Yeah, it's me." 

Kris’s heart did a somersault. No way. No fucking way he was talking to Adam. “Really?”

“Uhhh, yeah, Kris,” Adam dramatized his irritation, but Kris could still hear the smile in his voice. “You’re so weird.” Numbness took over Kris’s hands on the steering wheel. 

Kris found that he was no longer focused on the road at all. He was staring at the screen of the Bluetooth device, as if Adam’s face would be appearing there. Slack-jawed, he was unable to formulate any response to Adam’s words. How the hell was Adam speaking to him?

“Are you ready for tonight?” Adam sounded like an excited child. In fact, Kris had heard that same enthusiasm in his voice before. When they used to have sleepovers together, or when a new Madonna video was supposed to debut on television. Or when they had been invited to a birthday party that a real-life magician was scheduled to perform at. 

Kris shook his head slowly, shell-shocked. But somehow, he found words in his mouth, and they fell from his lips. “What’s tonight?”

Adam giggled. It was musical. Kris’s heart continued to leap in his chest. “Good one, buddy. ‘What’s tonight?’” Adam added in a mocking tone. His giggle revved up again. “Jesus Christ, Kris.”

Utterly dumbfounded, Kris decided to stay silent. Didn’t want to say anything else idiotic. 

“Well, it’s getting to be that time. . .” Clearly, Adam was prompting the end of the conversation. Kris was too overwhelmed with confusion to feel upset about it. “See you tonight, Kris! God, I can’t wait!”

And with that cryptic sentiment, Adam hung up the phone, and the car grew silent once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! First off, I just want to apologize for taking a bit longer with this chapter than with the others. I had a huge test this week that took away most of my free-time. Anyway, thanks for being so patient. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks so much for reading. PS--Just a quick note about this story: for the sake of the timeline, it takes place in 2012.

*Flashback: 1991*

Adam gyrated his hips in a crazy, jerky fashion. He swung his entire body around to the music--the motion looked as if he were trying to keep a hula-hoop around him. 

An old Elvis 45 spun in Eber Lambert's turntable, filling the air with the crackly sound of rich rock and roll. 

"You ain't nothin' but a hound dog!" Adam sang along to the record, trying to harmonize with the King while maintaining a good grip on his spasmodic mannerisms. But it was hard. Quickly he became out of breath and had to come to a complete stop, still gasping out lyrics every other second.

Kris was nearly doubled over in laughter. The situation was beyond hysterical--Adam's performance was hilariously passionate. In addition to all the swaggering movements and dramatic vocals, Adam had dressed the part. He'd painted on some sideburns by use of his mother's eyeliner pencils, and he'd stolen an over-sized, glittery pair of her sunglasses. 

All the dramatics amounted to an incredible show, with an audience of one. And Kris was certainly enthralled. At the beginning of the performance, Kris had watched Adam from his spot on the couch. Now, he knelt in front of the sofa, arms crossed over his torso, trying to hold himself together. His stomach ached with laughter, and his eyes burned with the tears that prickled behind them. Adam was driving him nuts running around like he was.

Soon Adam lost control of himself and started giggling along with Kris, abandoning his musical professionalism and flopping down on the couch behind him. That prompted Kris to rise to the cushions, but he was still lost in his fit. He wiped at his eyes as his stomach muscles grew harder. Adam's breathy laugh near him drowned out Elvis's voice, still blaring from across the room.

It wasn't until the song ended that the boys were able to calm down. It took the silence around them to end their laughing fits, soothing their straining ab muscles. There wasn't a noise in the room except for them attempting to catch their breaths. 

Kris glanced up at Adam--at the ridiculous shades and the makeup still smeared on his jawline--and almost lost it again. But he controlled himself. "You look kinda like Elton John."

Adam hooked his finger over the glasses and pulled them down to the tip of his nose. "Do you listen to his music?"

Kris shrugged, not wanting to seem lame. "My mom listens to him."

"Yeah, yeah." Adam's grin took over his entire face. His freckled cheeks rose to hide his eyes. "So how'd I do?"

Trying to tamp down on his urge to laugh again, Kris bit his tongue and thought back to all the other times he'd seen Adam perform. They'd done karaoke with the machine Adam had gotten for his birthday the year before. And he'd heard him sing in the community theatre productions--no solos, but Kris could tell he was good. When he wasn't goofing around like he had been. "I told you, you need to try out for Star Search."

Rolling his eyes, Adam mumbled, "Sure," and pushed his sunglasses back up to conceal his eyes. He always grew embarrassed talking about his pursuit of music. That's how Kris knew that he wanted it so much. Even as a nine-year-old, Adam had a passion for singing that he wanted to throw himself into.

"You can be a rockstar," Kris told him. "Really. I know you will be."

Shrugging, Adam murmured, "I mean, I think I wanna be." He let out a huff. "But what kind of rockstar is a ginger?" Kris's eyes widened. "You don't see Elvis rockin' red hair. Freddie Mercury's not strawberry-blonde."

"Adam, you can dye your hair when you grow up!" 

Adam was silent a moment. From behind the shades, his eyes couldn't be seen. Kris couldn't tell if he'd hurt his feelings or not. But when he spoke, it was obvious. "Maybe." He sounded hopeful. "It would be awesome, doing concerts. Signing autographs for fans. Making music videos, being on MTV. What a life!"

Kris simply nodded his head, happy to have encouraged his friend.

The boys were silent for a moment before Adam rose from the couch and crossed the room to the record player. "Want me to flip this one over?"

"Yeah," Kris said lazily, exhausted from his earlier giggle session. "I always loved that one." Adam had played it for him a hundred times before. "What's it called again?"

The familiar click of Adam dropping the needle, followed by the sound of soft static filled the air. The first peaceful notes of a guitar came through the record player, making Kris close his eyes. 

Adam joined him on the couch again and answered quietly, "Wild in the Country."

~*~*~

*2012*

Bloop.

Kris had received a new text message. Focusing on the road ahead of him--because everything else was too mind-boggling to even try to concentrate on--he absentmindedly hit the speaker button on the Bluetooth screen so the message could be read aloud.

"From Adam," the voice said. Kris's ears perked up, and once again his eyes flickered to the screen as if he'd see Adam's face there. "Message reads: Find Steve. He will tell you where to go."

Kris's eyes narrowed, his shoulders slumped. Once again, he felt trapped by his own obliviousness. What the hell was going on? Aside from the fact that it was completely strange and unbelievable that Kris was even having contact with him, Adam had been acting totally normal. Yet everything he said, to Kris it felt like a puzzle.

Hands working on autopilot, Kris no longer paid attention to the road. He stared at the car's screen for a few moments, trying to gain some semblance of understanding. Hoping that if he just spent a few minutes thinking, he would have a breakthrough and crack Adam's code.

But it was useless. After having reached no conclusions, he scooted back in his seat again, fiddling with the radio. Some music would help clear his mind. He settled on some Top 40 station and mindlessly drove on.

He'd just have to ditch Adam tonight, it seemed. There was no way to figure out where he was supposed to go, or what they were supposed to do. Adam hadn't seemed too keen on helping him earlier--apparently their plans were pretty important, and he'd no doubt be offended if Kris had forgotten what they were. 

He'd resigned to standing Adam up and begging his forgiveness tomorrow. No other choice in the matter.

Some mediocre bubblegum song faded from the speakers and a sleazy-sounding DJ's voice filled the air in the car. "Alright, that was the new Taylor song we've been getting a ton of requests for." Some jingle came through the speaker, a segue from the radio-show's music program to their talk segment. "So things are gonna be pretty hot tonight in L.A." Kris was almost tuning him out. "We've got none other than Adam Lambert performing at Staples Center tonight. Sold out show. So awesome! Wish I was going!"

Kris's heart began to race. But he immediately turned the radio off. He didn't even try to question what he'd heard. 

Nothing was making sense. Everything was weird as fuck. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy. Adam was supposed to have been a "missing person" anyway. So why bother questioning how he's performing a concert in downtown Los Angeles? 

Kris just shook his head in attempt to clear it and maintain some sense of sanity. Still, he knew he'd have to roll with what was given to him if he was going to get any answers.

So, barely paying attention to the traffic around him, he crossed a few lanes of the freeway and took the exit that would take him to Staples Center.

~*~*~

Finding Steve wasn't a very difficult task.

Within the blink of an eye, Kris had parked in the lot at the event center and headed toward the entrance. Without a hitch, he floated through security--even without a ticket. No obstacles were standing in his way. There was a dream-like quality to everything he did.

Once inside the arena, he found an official-looking man and questioned him on the whereabouts of Steve. If Steve was meant to direct him toward Adam, then he was exactly the person Kris needed to see at the moment. The middle-aged man he'd consulted ushered him through the arena, gestured through a hidden doorway, seemingly toward backstage, and given him directions to Steve's office.

Mindlessly Kris thanked the man and continued on his path, searching for ole Stevey-boy. Quickly Kris reached his office and found Steve sitting behind a desk. 

With a bright smile, Steve leapt up from his seat and motioned for Kris to follow him. Kris complied, allowing himself to be led hurriedly through the twisting maze of narrow corridors. 

Until they came upon a wall of thick curtains. Steve disappeared once they'd reached the destination. Kris swiveled around, once again bewildered. Everything was happening in a blur--it was all so nonsensical, it didn't seem real.

But then, the music started. A soft strumming of guitar--gentle enough to lull a person to sleep. Kris's heart skipped several beats. Screaming, applause, chanting--it all roared in the air, cutting straight through the material separating Kris from the stage.

Kris followed the noise down the line of the curtain. For the first time all night, he felt like he was moving in slow-motion. Like he was walking on a treadmill of sorts, not making any progress--tiring his body out but travelling nowhere. He seemed to continue for a few minutes while the audience's uproar grew louder. The chords on the guitar faded into one another. Kris reached out to brush his hand against the curtain as he walked--checking to make sure he was actually moving. He couldn't have been too sure.

Finally, he became one-hundred percent sure. He'd found the end of the wall of fabric--he ventured no further past the point. He had a perfectly clear view of the stage. And of Adam.

Once again, Adam was donning all black. And all leather. Boots, pants, jacket. Even gloves. With his choice in color, as well as his slender frame, it would have been easy for him to look like a shadow--but instead, he was glowing. Adam's beaming smile sparkled and his twinkling eyes shone with joy as he ambled across the stage. Even his skin seemed bright--flushing and buzzing with the adrenaline of taking the stage.

A few more guitar chords followed Adam's entrance, awaiting his voice to accompany it. Kris waited with bated breath for Adam to start. On some level of his brain, he recognized the song. He just wanted Adam to confirm it.

Adam opened his mouth to take a deep breath before finding the right note and jumping in. Kris's heart fluttered at the heavenly sound. 

"A dream. . . grows wild. . . in the country. . ."

~*~*~

Kris was nearly weeping with the heaviness of all his emotions. He was awed and excited and, most of all, proud of his friend for putting on such a spectacular show.

There was no way for Kris to have recognized most of the songs, but he'd found himself singing along to them. Songs about going underground, being lonely, looking at maps. . . There was a particular song about ghost towns that sent shivers down Kris's spine. At the end of each song, Kris swore that it had been his favorite performance--that is, until he saw the next one. The music was better than anything he'd ever heard before. It made his skin hum along--he'd never felt so alive. 

The feeling must have been contagious--he'd gotten it from Adam. Adam never stood still--he was a black cat, constantly prowling the stage. 

From his spot backstage, Kris had kept his eye on Adam's every move--never letting his gaze falter. He'd seen every strut across the stage, every swivel of the hips, every booty-shake--he'd seen all the winks and the smiles and the secret hand gestures to his band members.

But it was still shocking, when the show was over, for Kris to see Adam walking backstage. Directly toward him.

Adam's grin conquered his entire face, turning his eyes into slits. Kris stared up at him, once again in puzzlement. From far away, it had been different, but now, up close, it was hard for Kris to believe that it was truly Adam. How could it possibly be Adam? 

But as Kris studied him, he noticed the little strands of hair near his forehead that shimmered blonde in the light. The tiny freckle above his upper lip that Kris always used to think was a smear of chocolate. There was no doubt in his mind. But how could it be?

"Kris! I'm so glad you made it!"

Adam made a point of standing about a foot away from Kris. The awkwardness of not offering a physical greeting melted away in the face of his tremendous grin. Clearly, Adam's words were sincere.

Kris beamed. He couldn't control it--Adam's happiness was infectious. "Me, too." 

A thick silence descended between them. No one else seemed to exist. Not the band members, not the arena workers, not the thousands of fans on the other side of the stage. Just Kris and Adam.

The weight of the situation was almost immediately realized. Both of their smiles automatically vanished, and Adam dropped his gaze. He seemed eager to keep the conversation light. 

"So, what was your favorite song?" 

Kris simply furrowed his brow. He met Adam's eyes again. They both knew how serious it was. "Adam." 

Adam's face wrinkled in frustration, but he didn't speak for a long while. When he did, it wasn't exactly what Kris wanted to hear. "We can't talk about this here, Kris."

Kris's heart sank. He just wanted answers. "Well then, wh--?"

Without a word, Adam cocked his head to the side and began walking in that direction. Having been silently interrupted, Kris decided to accept the mystery and follow Adam as he stalked through the backstage halls.

It was no time before they reached Adam's door. There was a star at eye-level on the door, and Adam's name fit right inside the shape. Shoving the door open, Adam entered without a glance back. Kris used his best judgment and shut the door behind him as he stepped over the threshold.

Adam had crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the couch. His arms were folded loosely around him. He was taking deep, slow breaths with his eyes closed. It was odd to see such a sharply-dressed man display such anxiety. 

Kris bounded across the room, but he lowered himself on the sofa gingerly so he wouldn't disturb his nervous friend. But that plan didn't lead to anything. They sat in silence for almost a full minute--Adam trying to shut him out, and Kris gathering the willpower to ask questions.

Finally, he took matters into his own hands. "Adam, what's going on?" he asked. "Why are we here? Why are you here? Just--what's going on?"

Adam snapped out of it. He took one last exaggerated breath and opened his eyes to make contact with Kris. There was some sort of worry in the grey color, but Kris could not determine why. 

"Kris--I need your help." His voice was small. He sounded resigned. 

Kris couldn't control the questions that leapt out of his mouth. He was barely cognizant of the fact that he thought them--they were not spoken by his accord. "Then why didn't you ask me earlier? When you called? Why did I have to come all the way down here?"

He knew he was being rude. Hasty. But on some level of his mind, he knew he had to act fast. He had to gather up as much information as possible, as quickly as possible. Before the opportunity disappeared. 

"I wanted you to have fun," Adam said, face screwing up in what looked like regret. "I. . . I wanted you to be happy when you saw me. I didn't want to scare you. Because I know some of this is really freaky. . ."

Kris let out a huff. This was urgent. He couldn't deal with Adam beating around the bush. "Adam, what? What is even happening?"

Closing his eyes, Adam sighed. "I told you, Kris. I need you to help me."

The silence in the air caused the words Adam spoke to linger in Kris's head. They rolled around his mind a bit, attempting to make some sort of sense. "Help me." The words clicked in his brain, sounding somewhat familiar. They connected to a memory--pain. Stinging. Blood.

"You. . ." The pieces of the puzzle finally fit together. The cuts on his arm. "It was you!"

Adam nodded slowly, averting his eyes in shame. "I had to make you understand." He paused, and Kris was about to ask another question, before Adam continued. "This is real, Kris. I know it's not gonna make much sense to you right now. But this is all real.

"Yeah, it's happening in your head. But it's real. In the sense that when you wake up, I'm still here. Going about my day. Separate from yours. And everything that I'm telling you, and that I will tell you--it's all true. And it'll still be true when you wake up."

Kris's face crumpled up, racking his brain to make sense of anything that Adam had said. He could comprehend the words, but he couldn't wrap his head around any of it. 

One detail of what Adam said had stuck out to him, however. He clung to it. 

"Adam." It was said so gently that Adam's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He must have known what was about to come. "You know what I have to ask. . ."

Adam looked anguished. Kris's heart sank already. "Kris, don't."

Kris's body grew numb with dread. But he had to know. 

"Adam, are you dead?"

A flicker of an emotion showed on Adam's face. For an instant. It passed before Kris had a chance to figure out what it was. 

The room started spinning around Kris, images blurring around him. He couldn't focus on Adam's face. His vision was swimming--the world melting around him. He knew what was happening--he was waking up. 

Still, he hoped desperately against hope. 

Everything faded to black. After a beat, Adam's voice cut through the fog.

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter. I should be able to get the next one posted within the next couple days. Adam will be in the next one a lot more, I promise! Thanks so much for reading. And as always, I really love and appreciate all your feedback :)

The sob rose up within Kris's throat and escaped his mouth before his eyes were even open. He squinted them open, checking that he was indeed in his own bedroom again. The confirmation lasted only a mere second before he squeezed his eyes shut again, wrenching out a few tears.

Before he knew it, his emotions became uncontrollable. Tears streamed down his face in warm dribbles, trailing into his hair and pooling around his jawline due to the way he was lying in bed. Sob after sob racked his body, occasionally coming out in outbursts of cries. But because of his remaining grogginess of having been so immersed in his dream, he mostly only had enough energy to expel soft whimpers, pathetic to his own ears.

His chest was aching, his heart clenching with the emotions overtaking him. Only able to let out so much at a time, he felt like he was going to explode from the build-up. 

The prickly pain of crying too much made his eyes burn. Pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes, he tried to rub the stinging sensation away. His throat felt raw from his continuous outbursts, as well as holding back as much as he could. There was a lump there that he couldn't seem to swallow around--he was almost choking on his own misery. 

His fit continued like this for nearly five full minutes.

Gradually it died down. His entire face and neck were wet and sticky with tears. His cheeks were flushed. He had nearly rubbed the corners of his eyes raw, trying to stop the flow of teardrops. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he was able to regain some sense of composure. His tears ceased, save for a couple stragglers that trickled down his temples. His heartbeat calmed down to a normal rate. After a few moments of focusing on relaxation, Kris found himself steady enough to open his eyes again.

It took several rapid blinks for him to adjust to the light pouring in through the thin curtains on his window. When he felt okay, Kris shifted his weight on the bed, rolling over to lie on his left side. From the wetness seeping into the fabric covering his shoulder, he could tell his pillow was soaked with the evidence of his breakdown.

Sighing, Kris stared at the nightstand by the bed. The pill bottle was there, right in front of his lamp, and beside his alarm clock. He remembered laying his pill out the morning before, so he wouldn't forget to take it again. 

There was no pill on the nightstand. So he had to have taken it--even though he'd slept so deeply he could hardly recall it, he knew that had to be the case. So why had he had another dream? And why had it been about Adam?

Kris swallowed, wincing at the pain it caused his throat. He wouldn't allow himself to think about his dreams again.

That's what had made him cry. It certainly wasn't Adam's eerie message. Kris felt no grief over Adam's "death" because it wasn't real. It couldn't be--it was a dream. A figment of his own, apparently extremely twisted, imagination.

Kris had cried because he was afraid. Downright terrified, more like it. Why was he having these dreams in the first place? His pills were supposed to combat them. 

A vague throb ran up Kris's arm, the one he was laying on. Slipping it out from under his pillow, he pushed up onto his elbows to relieve the pressure from it. Brow furrowing, Kris ran a hand over the words in his forearm, slightly raised from the skin with swelling. He grimaced as he did so--the angry red message was still a bit tender.

A shiver ran through him as he read the words over again, this time hearing them in Adam's voice. "Help me. I need you to help me, Kris."

He felt tears well up in his eyes once again. What was happening to him?

~*~*~

Kris knew he looked like a mess. 

He'd accidentally stayed in bed so long he was left with little time to prepare for work. He hadn't even bothered to find a belt and his shirt wasn't tucked in. 

The shabby appearance didn't stop at the clothes. His hair was marred by an unfixable cow-lick from sleeping so hard. There were still defined tear-streaks going down his face--which meant his eyes must have been pretty red. His cheeks were permanently flushed from the crying-session and the chaotic fluster he'd been in to get ready. 

On top of all that, he hadn't eaten a decent meal in nearly two days. The day before, he'd been too late to get breakfast. He'd skipped half his lunch to avoid Ashley's prying eyes. He'd gotten home that night and gone straight to bed--no dinner. And with the mess of this morning, he'd put breakfast at the bottom of his list of priorities. 

The lack of nourishment caused Kris to look tired--shadows formed under his eyes, despite the fact that he had gotten a good night's sleep. Pale white replaced the usual medium-tan skin-tone he sported. He knew Ashley may not notice the violent growls his stomach was issuing every few seconds, but there's no way she'd miss his sickly appearance. 

He braced himself as he walked into the office. He knew he was asking for it, looking as bad as he did. Not to mention, he was almost fifteen minutes late. 

But he didn't expect to be assaulted so quickly. He had only just tiptoed to his cubicle--trying to skirt his boss, since she was a stickler for punctuality--and dropped his bag on his desk, when he heard her.

"Kris, you're here! Good, I was worried about you." The typical voice of concern. Same as yesterday. 

Kris spun on his heel to face her, straining to tuck his shirt into the back of his jeans as he did so. He saw the light go out--the smile slid right off her face when they met eyes. Ashley's flicked up and down his body, surveying him with raised brows. "Oh God, Kris."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Kris smiled at her. The gesture was meant to be disarming, but Kris could feel the skin on his face stretch with the effort, and knew it would make him look much thinner to her. "I'm fine," he said placatingly, before she had a chance to ask. "I've just been too busy to eat these past few days."

Ashley exhaled, sounding audibly relieved, but worry was still locked in her expression. "Well, let's go out for lunch today, okay?" she still eyed him suspiciously.

"Sounds good." He fought the urge to smile this time. "Thank you."

~*~*~

He wasn't going to let himself dream again. He wasn't going to let himself go crazy.

Being at work, being friendly with Ashley again, motivated him to take control of the situation. He wasn't going to let some strange visions fuck with his head and ruin his sanity. He wasn't going to mope around in bed all day and destroy his friendships. He wasn't going to let it happen.

He made a plan. The first step was to make a call to his therapist. As soon as he could, he was going to have a video session with Dr. Sherman and tell him all about what was going on. Kris knew it was the best way to keep himself safe. Dr. Sherman had helped Kris through the trauma of losing his best friend as a kid--surely he'd be able to help him through this crisis.

But he ended up getting home late again. Ashley had taken him out to dinner after work as well, and with the seemingly never-ending LA traffic jams, Kris ended up getting home around nine o'clock. He knew it was too late to call the therapist. Dr. Sherman lived in Arkansas--it was after eleven there. Willing himself not to panic, Kris vowed to make the video-chat the next day, when he had time.

Until then, there was only one surefire way he knew to avoid the hallucinations: don't sleep. 

Forgetting his pill had caused the first dream. Taking his pill had resulted in the dream the night before. There was no better way to cheat the system other than to refuse the system altogether.

It was like he was in the Elm Street films, trying to avoid Freddy Kreuger. Not that he was comparing Adam to the creepy killer--just the dreams in general. 

Kris spent nearly an hour gathering up all the supplies he'd need to stay awake. After taking a freezing cold shower to energize himself, he brewed a monstrous pot of coffee. He poured himself an entire bowl of almonds, because he read some article online about how the brain-foods give you energy. He gathered up his entire collection of action movies to keep himself entertained all night. 

He kept all the lights on in the apartment, sat in the floor so he wouldn't be too comfortable, and kept the air-conditioner on full-blast since being warm makes him sleepy.

Everything that possibly could have helped him stay awake, he did. He was thankful that he'd slept so well the night before--and for Ashley's generosity to take him out for real meals that day. That certainly helped him. 

He grew tired once around three in the morning. It was during a Fast and Furious sequel that he'd seen dozens of times before. He had to pause the movie and take another cold shower to wake himself up. 

After that, he popped in another movie--one he'd never seen before, that he had been told by friends would have him glued to his seat. That kept him enthralled for another few hours.

It wasn't until the sun rose, around six, that he truly started feeling the effects of his all-nighter. He'd finished his movies and decided to watch repeats of old sitcoms to keep himself entertained. It wasn't doing the greatest job. He found himself idly staring around the room more than at the television.

The soft streams of sunlight floating through the window were soothing to him--they warmed the room up, too. Birds started chirping their morning greetings. The dawn sounded so peaceful, so calm.

He found the room melting away. The sounds were fading out of his ears. He felt like he was floating.

He heard a voice in his ear. "Please, Kris." Adam's voice. "Please."

Kris was able to jerk himself awake before he fell too far into the darkness. He shook his head roughly, trying to rattle the haze out of his brain after having nodded off. Reaching out to the coffee table, he grabbed his coffee mug and took a big gulp, hoping that the caffeine would kick in soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoy this one. The story's really gonna start to pick up in these next few chapters. Thanks for reading again! You guys are awesome :)

Kris knew he probably didn't look much better than he had yesterday. Even with the delicious food he'd treated his body to the day before, he still felt like shit. Pulling an all-nighter can do that to a person.

His eyes were bloodshot, not from crying like the day before, but as a result of his exhaustion. The darkened shadows under his eyes had grown puffy from lack of rest. His sluggishness that morning had prevented him again from getting ready in a timely manner. He was sporting scruff, having last shaved two days earlier, which made him look even more disheveled.

Kris hadn't banked on looking good that day--he knew it was out of the question. But he didn't expect to feel so shitty. After three cold showers and eight cups of coffee, he felt like he should have been a little more energized than he was. But the stress of the situation tired him out even more. 

The office had a meeting that morning. Kris sat at a table in the conference room, wedged between Ashley and some new guy as his co-workers gave presentations and pitched ideas for the next month's issue of their magazine. 

Nothing important was being said--they were all horrible ideas. Not that Kris had anything to contribute--he'd been so preoccupied the past few days he hadn't been able to do any real work. He simply sat back in his chair, propping his elbow up on the arm of it, and rested his head on his hand. At least he would be comfortable, even if he was terribly bored.

His eyes were so tired. Blurriness overtook his vision every few seconds as he stared at the screen his co-worker was gesturing to. The flourescent lights of the office weren't helping much either. Kris's eyelids fluttered shut. He was still listening to the presentation, he just needed to rest his strained eyes for a moment.

"Please don't ignore me, Kris," the familiar voice murmured in his ear.

Kris awoke with a slight jolt, which thanks to everyone paying attention to the speaker at the front of the room, none of his co-workers seemed to notice. Except Ashley. He could feel her suspicious eyes boring into him--trying to put two and two together about why he'd deprived himself of food the day before and sleep today--but he refused to glance back at her. 

Subtly he shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from it. He opened his eyes wider, trying to focus on the reality of his surroundings. 

But quickly his eyelids began to droop again. The room was warm, and he was drowsy. It took all the willpower he had for him to keep his eyes open. Before long though, he gave in again.

The second his eyes closed, he heard Adam's voice again. "I need you."

A sharp jab of an elbow to his ribs jerked him awake. He flinched in his seat, wincing from the pain in his side. Flicking his gaze over to Ashley, he saw her admonishing expression. 

Offering her a small, close-lipped smile of apology, Kris turned back to the presentation at the front of the room. He couldn't even pretend to know what his co-worker was talking about, but he did all he could to concentrate on her words. 

Glancing at the clock, Kris was dismayed to find there was still fifteen minutes left in the meeting. He knew he had no choice but to stay awake through the rest of it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he checked to make sure Ashley wasn't looking at him. When the coast was clear, Kris silently slipped a hand into the sleeve of his left arm. Fingers wrapping around his forearm, he squeezed gingerly. 

He had to bite his lip to keep from whimpering. Although he wasn't applying much pressure, his wound was sensitive to any touch. His light contact had sent a shockwave of pain running through his arm. It made his heart beat faster.

He knew that's what he had to do. For the next fifteen minutes, Kris kept a grip on his injured arm, squeezing tightly at random times to ensure that he stayed alert. The stinging throbs that coursed through him were enough to keep him awake. 

The moment the meeting was over, Kris entered a dissociative state. He slipped his hand out of his sleeve, rose from his chair, and spoke to people that he didn't even realize he was speaking to. He cracked some joke with the new guy, commended his co-worker on her brilliant presentation, and smiled and nodded at whatever the hell Ashley said to him. 

On autopilot he traveled back to his cubicle. Sitting down at his desk, he barely felt conscious. Immediately Kris gave into temptation again, hunching over and resting his head on his desk. 

Within a minute's time, he had fully succumbed to his exhaustion.

~*~*~

"What the hell do you need?"

It was Kris's voice. The words had come from his mouth. Kris had heard himself say it. Once again, nothing seemed real.

Kris spun on his heel, somewhat astonished to find his own living room sprawled out before him. The television, the coffee table, the recliner, the guitar in the corner. The couch, which Adam was sitting on.

Adam was dressed in all black again. But these weren't his dramatic stageclothes, complete with studded accessories and leather detailing. This apparel was normal--just a simple tank top and shorts. 

Adam had his legs drawn up under his body on the couch. It was weird seeing a man, who'd been so confident and debonair the last time Kris had seen him, now folded in on himself. 

Maybe it was the subject matter. Kris knew that Adam clearly wanted something--he was probably nervous to broach the subject. And Kris's defensive attitude probably wasn't doing much to help Adam's anxiety.

Kris shook his head, hoping some sense would fly into it. What did any of that matter? None of this was real anyway. He knew by now that he was dreaming. For whatever reason.

"I just. . . I need you to do something for me, Kris," Adam said. 

Kris spread his arms out to his sides as if to say, "I'm all yours."

"But I feel like you're not taking me seriously."

The laughter that escaped his mouth was uncontrollable. Just a quick bark of a chuckle. Just one. But it was enough to cause an expression of hurt to settle over Adam's features. "Now I know you're not," Adam pouted.

"Oh, come on, Adam," Kris cried, unable to wipe the smirk from his face. "We both know what this is."

"Kris, I told you. It's real."

"Okay." Kris shrugged, lips still curled.

"Kris!"

"Adam! I'm dreaming, okay? This is a dream. I know it is. For whatever reason, I'm dreaming again. About you. Probably because the anniversary's coming up." Kris sighed, feeling slightly guilty for being unaffected by the offended expression on Adam's face. "Listen, I'm not going to go crazy. I refuse. If I choose to believe you, and help you, and do whatever you're asking of me, I'm gonna go crazy.

"But I won't. I can't. I'm just not gonna do that." Kris flopped down on the couch next to Adam, almost an entire cushion of space between them.

Adam was silent for a long time. Kris smiled sadly, not wanting to gloat about his clear victory in the matter. Finally, Adam spoke in a tiny, yet determined voice. "What's it gonna take?"

Kris leaned a hair closer to Adam, furrowing his brows. "Pardon?"

"What's it going to take for you to believe me? Because I've got proof, but you've got to agree to help me first." Adam's jaw was set. Kris knew the battle wasn't over yet. "I'll do almost anything to make you believe me. This is real, Kris. I swear to you it is. You just have to believe me."

"I don't know, I. . . I'm not going to help you, Adam, you understand that, right?" He had to make it clear where he stood on the issue.

The corner of Adam's lip curled up. Did he know something Kris didn't?

"Adam. . ." Something in Adam's gaze made it obvious that it wasn't the ideal time for Kris to reignite the argument. He just shut up.

It was silent for a full minute. Then, without warning, Adam reached across the sofa and raised his hand to smack Kris on the shoulder. Kris winced, bracing himself for the random blow. But it never came.

Kris opened his eyes and saw Adam's hand sticking through his shoulder. Adam's face was turned into a wicked grin. Kris's jaw went slack, taking in the supernatural occurrence. Why could he not feel Adam?

He tried it himself. He reached out to brush Adam's skin, but where Adam's arm was, Kris only felt air. Neither one of their bodies were real.

"See?" Adam said, look of triumph clear on his face.

Kris shook his head, still stubborn in his disbelief. "That just proves we're in a dream."

Adam's face softened. He looked at Kris piteously, as if feeling sorry for him. "Oh, Kris. That proves much more than that."

Another silence settled into the room, causing the questions in Kris's head to be shouted louder. There was one that he knew would rid the room of its silence--one that he knew would get Adam talking, even if it was just for the sake of the dream. Kris opened his mouth to speak again, but Adam cut him off.

"I'm not going to tell you what happened to me."

Kris's heart sank. There went that curiosity. He decided to act like he hadn't been just about to ask that question. He stared blankly at Adam and replied, "Okay."

"And I never will," Adam added. He stared right back at Kris, his gaze piercing. "Because you don't want to know what I went through, Kris. And I don't want to think about it. Capeesh?"

Numbly, Kris nodded. He swallowed convulsively. Something about the intensity of Adam's eyes--those grey, stormy eyes--was haunting. There was something hollow about them. Which made his words all the more powerful. 

Kris tried to play cool. With an effort, he shrugged. "I'm not gonna ask."

Adam smiled sadly. Again, as if Kris was the one who should be pitied. "Okay. . ." Adam replied in a tone that made it clear that he didn't believe Kris. "Anyway, about that thing I need you to do. . ."

"Adam, I told you--"

"You don't have to do it," Adam insisted, sounding a bit agitated. "But in case you want to, I'll just tell you the deal."

"Fine," Kris said, through purposely gritted teeth. On the inside, he began to tremble.

"Call the police and tell them to look at Cassiar Ranch."

It was such an unexpected request, Kris didn't know if he'd heard it right. He made Adam repeat himself.

"Why would I do that?"

It was Adam's turn to bark out a laugh. "Why wouldn't you?" He raised his eyebrow at Kris. "It wouldn't cost you anything--the call can be anonymous. No sacrifice on your end." He shrugged. "You want proof that all of this is real. And my friend, if you do what I tell you, you'll have your proof."

Kris was silent, considering Adam's words. He was speechless. His sense of pride was so strong that he couldn't make himself say anything that would possibly give Adam hope. But he had no argument against him.

Within a minute's time, it no longer mattered. The world faded to darkness as it always did when he was waking up. His conversation with Adam was over. But he heard one last thing before reaching consciousness. "Remember: Cassiar Ranch."

~*~*~

"Kris."

The barked word sparked alarm in Kris's brain, startling him awake. He sprang up from where he had slouched over his desk, and wheeled around in his chair toward the voice before his eyes were even open.

He was hardly aware of his surroundings when he looked around. His mind was definitely still muddy, still expecting to be sitting in his own living room, talking to Adam. The dreams he was having were becoming more and more life-like. 

But finally, his eyes settled on Ashley, leaning against the wall of his cubicle, arms folded across her chest. With her eyes narrow and her nostrils flared, it wasn't hard to tell she was pissed. "What the hell are you doing, Kris?" she snapped. Kris would say that she sounded like his mother, but his mom would never speak to him with such venom in her voice.

"I. . ." Kris started, but stopped himself. He really didn't feel like getting into it with her now.

"What's been going on?" Ashley questioned, her features softening and her eyebrows furrowing to make an expression of worry. "You've been so weird lately."

"I really don't feel good today," Kris explained, widening his eyes, willing her to believe him so she'd get off his case. "I think you were right about me being sick." Kris rose from his seat and grabbed his bag from under his desk--his body was making decisions that his mind was hardly aware of. 

"But. . ." Ashley trailed off, knowing what Kris was about to do. 

"I think I'm just gonna head home," Kris mumbled, trying to offer her a placating smile.

She didn't even notice. Her eyes grew wide, focused on something. It took Kris a minute, but he followed her gaze, which was straight on his forearm. Kris's heart sped up when he realized. There was a small patch of blood that had seeped through his sleeve. He must have caused that earlier when he was trying to keep himself awake during the meeting. 

He fought the urge to hide his arm behind his back, knowing that would make him seem even more suspicious.

"Oh my god, Kris," Ashly whispered in horror. "You're bleeding."

"It's fine," Kris immediately responded. "It's nothing. Listen, I'm just gonna go home, get some rest. I'll come back tomorrow feeling better than ever, you got me?" He looked her right in the eyes, hoping his vague excuse was enough to sustain her. "Don't worry about me."

Ashley let out a deep sigh, and she stepped back from the doorway of the cubicle to allow Kris to walk through. "But you make it so hard not to."

~*~*~

A pit-stop was made on Kris's way home. 

Once Kris had exited the office building, he found a spot on the wall outside on which he could lean. He didn't want Ashley to look out the window and see him, so he wedged himself into a small corner. He stood there, feverishly searching his phone for results on Cassiar Ranch. 

It took nearly twenty minutes to find anything worth noting. At first Kris had looked up Kassiar Ranch, so accustomed to the spelling of his own name that he assumed it was the correct spelling of the word. There were no results. 

When he finally tried it with a C, it had still taken awhile for him to find anything. Adam had said to call the police. So clearly all the Ranch dressing factories were not what he was looking for. 

It took him until the fourteenth page on Google to find anything other than salad dressing. Cassiar Ranch, in upstate Montana. It was located in an abandoned town called Aldridge, near the Canadian border. 

The Ranch used to be the town's inn, until the rest of the town grew unpopulated and the buildings became dilapidated. Aldridge had no inhabitants these days, and it wasn't considered one of the hip "tourist ghost towns." There was nothing there but flat land, for miles on end.

Kris saw a link from the page he was on that connected to a site about the county Aldridge was in. Valley County--despite the death of Aldridge, the county was still pretty popular. There were several other cities in Valley County that made it a functioning place.

Feeling something tighten in his gut, Kris looked up the phone number to the Valley County Sheriff's department. Exhaling a long draught of air, Kris moved away from the wall and, on wobbly legs, crossed the sidewalk to the nearest payphone. 

Depositing the necessary coins, Kris's hands shook. His heart beat rapidly as he dialed the number--the extension he'd found, specifically for anonymous tips. 

Kris felt a lump form in his throat as the phone rang. His mouth was dry. His cheeks felt hot, as he was flustered by the fact that he was doing this at all. Could he feel any more foolish?

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when someone on the other end answered the phone. Kris was almost disappointed that he'd called the correct number. God, he didn't want to do this. . .

"I think you should go check out Cassiar Ranch. There's been some suspicious activity there." Fuzziness pervaded Kris's brain, and his knees grew weak. He wished he was still dreaming. 

"Ole Cass, you said?" the voice at the other end said. All thoughts fleeing from Kris's mind, he nodded his head. "In Aldridge?"

"Um. . . I. . . Yes. That's the place." Kris nearly dropped the phone, his palms were so sweaty.

"Would you like to elaborate?" Valley County asked. They sounded like they were eager to help Kris, but he couldn't do much but cringe at himself.

"Well, I can't exactly. I don't know much. But I know something weird has been happening there," Kris was lying through his teeth. He didn't want to make up a false story, but he had to get the cops out there somehow. That's what Adam needed. "Something disturbing, I guess. I would feel a lot safer if you all checked it out." 

Kris bit his lip, each moment of silence seeming like an eternity. Finally, the person's voice came through the receiver again.

"Alright, I'll talk to the Sheriff about this." Kris sighed with relief. "Thank you for contacting us."

Hastily, Kris hung up the phone, heaving a drawn-out sigh. Glad the phone call was over.

On shaky knees, he started to make his way to his car, which was parked down the road from his office. 

He wondered how long it would take for the cops to find whatever it was that Adam needed them to find. Kris didn't dare hope that it was Adam himself they were going to find--that would be a miracle. He didn't want to get his hopes up. 

But he really wondered how long it would take them--if it'd be a few hours, or days, or months. And whenever they found it, would Kris know? Would it be newsworthy? Would Adam still be in his dreams to tell him? Or would he disappear whenever the cops cried eureka?

Kris made it to his car, sliding inside. Hundreds of questions swam through his head. He didn't know much of anything, still. But he knew he'd done all he could do. He'd done exactly what Adam had told him to do--that had to be enough. 

There was nothing else for him to do now but wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in this chapter!! It was a really rough week for me, and I was unable to write like I wanted to. Thank you for your patience. This one's pretty long, so it should be worth the wait! I hope you guys enjoy it. The next chapter shouldn't take nearly as long, since I've got a holiday break coming up. Thanks for reading <3

The echo of the slamming door was still reverberating through the air by the time Kris had made his hurried way to his bedroom. Without thinking, he crossed the room and sunk to his bed, sitting facing the night-stand. With shaking hands, he reached toward the pill bottle, picked it up, and tapped the bottom to force one of the small capsules into the palm of his hand. He brought his trembling hand toward his mouth.

The pill had nearly reached his lips when he hesitated. He paused, keeping his fingers about half an inch away from his face. Did he really want to do this? Force himself to have another dream? Give in to whatever this hallucination was? He’d already followed Adam’s directions—he’d called the police and reported what he’d needed to. How much further would it go?

A tiny voice in the back of his head told him to call his therapist. Get out of this hazy trance he was in. Dr. Sherman would help him. They’d talk everything out—the doctor would help him understand everything that was happening to him. He’d have some logical explanation for it all, surely. Dr. Sherman could definitely make it all go away, find a way for Kris to stop having these crazy dreams. Kris would be back to normal. 

But did he even want to stop having them? 

Set aside the question of whether or not they were real. It didn’t matter. They were dreams, for crying out loud. Of course they weren’t "real."

Kris had found a way to spend time with Adam. His childhood friend—who he’d lost, so long ago. They could catch up. It could be nice. In Kris’s head, at least. As long as he kept his head about it, there was really nothing wrong with the situation. There was no harm in dreaming.

“They’re just dreams,” Kris mumbled to the empty room around him. “No big deal—nothing’s wrong at all.” He deliberately ignored the stinging pain in his wounded forearm.

Not wanting to talk himself out of it again, Kris popped the pill into his mouth and eased his tired body back onto his bed. Spreading out on top of the blankets, Kris swallowed the tablet dry. The bitterness from the pill filled his mouth, and he still tasted it by the time he was taken by unconsciousness.

~*~*~

The backyard wasn’t huge. Not as big as Kris’s, at least. 

The Allens had a yard that extended for several acres, making it the perfect size for exploring, or a challenging game of hide-and-seek. It was the perfect fit for Kris, who loved to spend as much time as he could outside—summer or winter.

And the Lamberts’ backyard was the perfect match for Adam—who loved to stay indoors listening to music and playing dress-up. It was a fairly small yard—fenced in, with a luxurious in-ground pool. Only a small portion of it was actually grass. They’d lined the in-ground pool with concrete to make for a giant patio. Only the back strip of land that touched the fence was actually green.

A small part of that was sectioned off for Leila’s ill-kept garden—drooping flowers and browning shrubs sat idly in the soil—she was always too busy working to pay much attention to it. Every once in a while, she’d give Kris and Adam a few bucks to tend to it. That usually ended with Adam sticking his feet in the pool, relaxing while Kris did all the hard work.

There was only one tree in their backyard, and it was technically not even in it. The trunk was rooted right on the other side of the fence, flush against it, making the posts bulge in some places. The branches hung over the backyard as it grew, providing them with shade as well as fresh apples.

Kris was sitting near the house, in one of the patio chairs. He inhaled deeply, remembering the strangely comforting concoction of the fruit and chlorine scent that used to emanate from the yard. He remembered all the hours he used to spend in the Lamberts’ backyard, gardening with Adam, swimming during the summer, and climbing the apple tree.

Leaning forward in his chair a bit, he craned his neck to the right and felt a small thrill. He could see his house from where he sat. Where he lived as a kid—where his parents still live.

The Lamberts had moved out of Adam’s childhood home after his disappearance. But that didn’t seem to matter now—Kris was lounging, actually quite uncomfortably in the acceptable-in-the-80s plastic patio chair, in the Lamberts’ old backyard. He knew Adam would be joining him soon. 

He also knew that Adam was the one responsible for the setting. He had chosen to bring Kris back to Adam’s childhood home. But why?

Kris sat, face screwed up in confusion, fidgeting to get comfy in the outdated furniture—when a noise broke through the bewildered thoughts racing through his mind. 

Laughter. Laughter he hadn’t heard in a while. His own.

High-pitched. Lilting—almost musical. Carefree—young and innocent.

The sound cut through the fog in Kris’s muddied brain. His mouth opened, jaw slack with wonder, as he braced his hands on the arm-rests of the chair.

A pounding noise burst through the air, followed by a shrill creak. The gate on the right side of the fence flew open, and into the backyard ran two young boys. 

One, a freckle-peppered boy with moppy, wheat-colored hair. The other, a tiny, skinny boy with dark brown, spiky hair—he couldn’t have been much taller than three feet. The freckled boy was obviously a couple years older. But they both still looked like babies.

They sprinted across the pavement, all the way up to the edge of the pool. They skidded to a halt right next to the diving board. The gate door clanged shut behind them. Both boys stopped to catch their breath before speaking. 

Young Kris’s face lit up with joy as he took in the sight in front of him. The swimming pool—the sparklingly clear water, swaying with the summer breeze and glistening from the sunlight. 

“Oh my gosh! No way!” Young Kris squealed.

“I told you,” Young Adam said, folding his arms over his chest and grinning. “Mom said you could come over and swim with me any time!”

Young Kris’s jaw dropped with delighted surprise. “Alright! This is so neat!”

Kris’s eyes widened on the scene. He remembered this. This exact moment in his life. 

He remembered bursting in through the wooden gate and running up to the edge of the pool—seeing it for the first time. It was the first time he’d ever seen a pool at all. It’d looked huge. Like an endless body of water. He’d been so scared to swim in it, but at the same time, tingly with excitement.

Kris was watching his memory play out before him, from the patio chair. He felt an ache pull at his chest—some sort of vague wistfulness that he didn’t have the mental capacity to tend to.

“My Grandpa has a pool but we only go to his house at Christmastime so we can’t ever swim in it,” Young Kris explained to his friend, who was dipping his hand in the water to check the temperature.

“Do you think your mom will let you swim?” Young Adam asked, rising from where he’d knelt to the pavement. The sunlight hit his face at just the right angle—his eyes shone bluer than they’d ever looked before.

“Boy, I hope so!” Young Kris cried. “Let’s go ask!” Both boys ran out of the backyard, back through the gate, towards Kris’s house even faster than when they’d entered.

The high-pitched, childlike voice still rang in Kris’s ears. Something tightened in his chest.

Another voice cut through the air. “That was the first day we met.”

Kris spun around to where the voice was. Adam—the older, black-haired Adam—was coming through the back door of the house, stepping down to the patio. He smiled softly at Kris, shutting the door behind him and ambling toward where he sat.

Kris exhaled deeply. “I know.” He smiled awkwardly as Adam flopped down into the chair next to his. Kris’s eyes ran over Adam—his face, his chest, his arms. His brow furrowed as he did—it disturbed him, knowing that if Kris was to reach out and try to touch his friend, he couldn’t. His hand would go right through him. But he pushed that thought away, knowing that if he were to ask about it, Adam wouldn’t give him an answer.

“The day you first moved in,” Adam added, seeming a bit wistful himself. A tiny smile twisted up the corners of his mouth. “You know, before you moved in, it was an old couple that lived in your house.” Adam nodded, but Kris knew by the faraway look in his eyes that the gesture wasn’t meant for him. 

“They had a lot of cats.” Adam’s nose curled up, which made Kris chuckle. He'd always hated them. “One of the damn cats used to climb that apple tree—all the way to the very top—and jump back here. Smart enough to bypass the fence—creepy, right? That’s why I hated going outside. Before you came, anyway.”

“Before I came?” Kris raised his eyebrows. “Ha! I practically had to beg you to come outside every day. You never wanted to come out!”

Adam’s mouth dropped in an expression of feigned offense. “Yeah, right! I was out there all the time with you—and you wanted to be outside, rain or shine. Or snow. . .”

“You liar!” Kris shouted, trying to contain his laughter for the sake of the banter.

A sharp knocking sound drew both men’s attention. They both swung around in their chairs to face the source of the noise—the backdoor of the house. 

Young Kris was standing on the doorstep, hand raised to the window of the backdoor. He was bundled up in a heavy coat, and he was antsy, trying to keep warm. The sky above him was completely gray. It was clearly wintertime. 

Young Adam answered the door within a minute’s time. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest, shivering. He looked surprised to see his friend standing there, in the cold. 

“Adam!” Young Kris’s shrill, baby voice made the older Kris cringe. It was worse than hearing his voice in a video recording. “Adam, come outside! The princess has been captured! We have to go on an adventure to save her!”

Young Adam’s lip curled in irritation. This caused a chuckle from older Adam. “Kris, it’s freezing out there! Come play inside.”

“We have to save the princess!”

“Mom’s making hot chocolate. And she just bought new makeup, and she said I could use her old stuff—I can make you into a monster!”

“No, Adam! You have to come help me! The villain has the princess locked away! We’ve gotta go get her before it’s too late.”

Young Adam rolled his eyes, which incited more laughter. Adam loved his younger self’s sass. 

“We can play inside tomorrow,” Kris whined. It sounded like he was on the verge of crying. “Please play outside with me! We have to go save her. We’re knights.”

“Fine!” Young Adam let out a huff, and his breath could be seen in the nippy air. “Let me get my coat.” Young Kris followed him inside, and the door closed behind them. 

Kris and Adam both swiveled in their chairs, back toward the pool, where it still looked like summertime.

Adam laughed. “Okay, whatever. Maybe you had to beg me at times. . .” Defeat was clear in Adam’s tone. “But at least I went! I played outside with you a lot. A lot more than I would have liked.”

Kris shook his head. “Are you saying you didn’t have fun?”

Adam cocked his head to the side and shot him a look. “Really, Kris?”

Another scene began to play out before them. The sky changed again—this time, to a soft, white shade that was reminiscent of spring. There was a bit of a chill to the air, but the sun was warm enough to make it manageable. 

Grunts and labored breathing filled the air, as well as the muffled sound of a radio. Kris focused his attention on the back corner of the yard, where Leila’s garden was. Adam had pulled a lawn chair into the grass right next to it, and he was lying back, relaxing with the radio on. Kris was on his knees in the dirt, pulling weeds.

He had on these gloves, special for gardening. They were Leila’s, but they fit his tiny, seven-year-old hands just right. Billy Idol’s voice blared through the nearly-busted speaker of the radio. Kris remembered this moment clearly. Adam was mumbling incorrect lyrics along to “White Wedding,” while Kris was digging in the soil.

Knowing what was about to happen, Kris couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. The kid was about to find something. A few seconds later, a mischievous look washed over Young Kris’s face. Kris’s heart began to beat with excitement. 

Kris remembered, it had felt like the moment was passing in slow motion when he'd lived it. But watching it now, from afar, it happened at a much quicker pace.

Young Kris tiptoed behind Adam’s lawn chair, reached over Adam’s head, and silently dropped a worm on Adam’s stomach. The piercing scream that followed sounded a lot like a little girl’s. Immediately, Young Adam fell sideways out of his chair, beating his hands over his body to clean himself. 

The Krises laughed in unison. They both doubled over in laughter, nearly screaming, and letting the occasional snort escape them. The older Kris thought he’d topple out of his own chair if he didn’t stop. He clutched at his sides to keep himself together.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he stole a glance at the older Adam. He was sitting back in his seat, legs crossed and arms folded over his chest. If there was ever a time for the phrase, “a stick up your ass” to be used, it would be now.

Adam glared at Kris, raising his eyebrows expectantly for him to stop laughing. Kris stared at him, directly in the eyes, willing him to give in. To break contact, Adam rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and allowing himself to crack a tiny smile.

“Aha!” Kris shouted in victory, pointing at Adam’s face.

“Oh, whatever. So, it’s a little funny,” Adam deadpanned. “Now. It certainly wasn’t back then. . .”

“For you!” Kris cried, giggling a bit more. It was such a great childhood memory, but he rarely allowed himself to think about it anymore. Memories of Adam were always marred by memories of Adam’s disappearance. There was really no way for Kris to reminisce about his childhood without being reminded of the trauma. 

The thought stole over him now, subduing his nostalgic bliss. Sobered up, he was now reminded ten-fold of the situation. Of what had been happening recently. Of what Adam wanted from him—and what he’d done for Adam. And of course, how none of it made any sense.

Adam must have noticed the smile fade from his face. Kris’s emotions must have been obvious. “Kris, I wanted you to be able to think of me and be happy.” Adam’s voice sounded gentle. Consoling, in a way. “I wanted you to be able to remember our childhood together and not think of us being split apart. I wanted to help you focus on the good stuff, and get the bad thing out of your head. That’s why I showed you all this.”

Kris felt helpless. Was he ever going to get any answers? Or would he be lost forever? “But why, Adam? I’m just so confused by all of this. . .”

Adam sighed. Deeply. He looked troubled. As if he wanted to explain it all, but couldn't. "You just need to get it in your head. . . That I'm here. I'm Adam--I am your friend--and I am here, in your head. Very much real. I needed your help, and I'm sorry for putting you through the wringer. But we can still have fun, because I'm still your friend." 

Adam grimaced, like he knew that what he said was too cryptic for Kris to comprehend. "I'm really sorry. I just wanted you to be happy now. Because when you wake up, things are gonna get really strange. I'm just trying to warn you, okay? Things are about to get really weird for you."

Kris's pulse sped up. What the hell was Adam talking about? "Adam, what? I feel like you're always on the verge on telling me something." Kris wrung his hands, frustrated beyond belief. "You're always rushing to give me some message--but you never end up telling me anything."

Adam's worried expression softened into sympathy. "That's all about to change, Kris, I promise." Adam stared at him, unblinking, as if that would be more convincing. "It'll all be different next time."

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Kris nodded his head. He just had to accept the fact that he wouldn't know anything. 

He shook his head suddenly, trying to regain some sanity. Of course he wouldn't know anything--they were dreams. Dreams were supposed to be nonsensical. 

A pained expression morphed Adam's features into further trouble, as if he'd heard Kris's thoughts of doubt. Kris shook his head again, trying to clear it. There was something specific he had to bring up, and he didn't have time to question himself.

Kris thought of what Adam had said. It would all be different the next time. If it was true, that meant that the call Adam had asked Kris to make had actually meant something. It really could be the proof that Kris was looking for. And if that were the case, that meant. . . 

Kris's heart swelled with hope. "Adam, are you coming home?"

Adam's chin wobbled, and he swallowed convulsively. Unshed tears glimmered in his eyes. The sky was getting dark. Everything was. 

"I am home," Adam murmured. 

The last thing Kris saw was a lone tear slide down Adam's cheek, before it all slipped away.

~*~*~

Kris awoke with a start in his own bed. He grunted, immediately feeling a headache digging into his skull.

Sighing, he reached out to use his pillowcase to wipe his face. There was quite a bit of perspiration on his forehead, and, strangely enough, a few tears had managed to escape his eyes. 

With a heavy heart, he rolled over on the mattress, squinting at the alarm clock on his night-stand. Much like his brain, his vision was always a little fuzzy when he first awoke. But the digital numbers shone brightly through the dark, and they were easily read as "8:00."

Blinking several times to see if he'd made a mistake, Kris's jaw went slack. When he confirmed that it truly was 8:00, he slumped back onto his pillow with a grunt, wondering how the hell he'd slept eight hours in the middle of the day.

He hadn't slept at all the night before--that probably had something to do with it. And Ashley was stressing him out at work. And he'd taken a pill. It wasn't as odd as he'd thought for him to have slept so long.

"See, Kris, ole buddy-boy," Kris thought to himself, brushing a few more tears out of his eyes. "You're not losing your mind after all. You were just tired. And now you've caught up on your sleep. You're fine."

But it really hadn't felt that long. His encounter with Adam--laughing, remembering, and talking with him. There's no way it had taken up more than twenty minutes. 

Kris's brow furrowed as he lied deep in thought. At least that's what it had felt like--just a few minutes. He tried to rub the stress out of his forehead, finding the wrinkled brow to be making his headache worse. "But it's not like I know anything about dreams," Kris thought. "Or the perception of time during them. . ."

Kris took a deep breath, willing himself to believe everything was okay. He was normal. He'd just had a normal dream, like a normal person does, in his normal bed. 

A deep buzzing noise distracted him from his self-assurance. Automatically his hand stretched toward the night-stand to grab his cell phone. 

It had vibrated only once, which meant he had a text message. He pulled it close to him, eyes narrowing on the screen. Dozens of text message notifications were on his screen--apparently he'd missed quite a few signals when he was asleep.

His heart clenched in his chest. He never had that many text messages. Something must have happened. 

Quickly he scrolled through the notifications, not bothering to actually open any of the messages and read them. He had messages from relatives and friends that he hadn't spoken to in years, as well as some of his close comrades and family. Almost all of the messages started the same way: "Have you seen the news?"

Kris could feel his pulse in his ears, and he found it hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. Adam had said things were going to get crazy. . .

Without thinking, Kris sprang out of bed and shuffled toward the living room. Grabbing the remote control, he powered the television on and didn't even bother to make his way to the couch. He plopped himself down on the floor, right in front of the screen.

An equal mix of hope and fear plagued his heart. His hands fidgeted in his lap, and he had to clasp them together to keep from ripping the carpet up. 

The television wasn't already on news channel, but apparently the story was such breaking news that it overrode whatever show had been on. A male newsanchor sat behind a counter on the screen, speaking passionately about whatever was happening. 

Kris had tuned in just in time to catch him mid-sentence. ". . .finally come to a close after almost twenty years."

Kris bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. His eyes flicked from the man to the bottom of the screen, where words were continually scrolling across.

"Child abducted in 1992: body finally discovered in Montana. Kidnapper/Murderer taken into custody in Valley County."

A picture flashed onto the screen, catching Kris's eye. He couldn't control the scream that came out of his mouth. 

The picture was of Adam.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I have to say I'm SO sorry for making you wait nearly a month for this chapter. I promise I will never abandon this story, no matter how long it takes me. It's been a hectic and stressful finals week at my school and I've had to survive that. Anyway, now that holiday break is here it shouldn't be as long of a wait. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter! More to come, very soon! Thank you for continuing to read, and for all your supportive feedback :)

Kris couldn't tear his eyes away from the photo on the TV screen.

Adam. Little ten-year-old, red-haired, freckled Adam, smiling so wide his eyes were crinkled at the corners.

Kris had been there when the picture had been taken; he remembered the scene perfectly. It was Adam's birthday party. It was one of the last special occasions Kris had had with Adam, so he'd clung to the memory all these years after Adam disappeared.

Adam's tenth birthday, the year he'd disappeared. The Lamberts had thrown him a birthday party, and because it was an unseasonably warm day for January, they'd had it in their backyard. The yard that Kris had just dreamt about.

Kris remembered the exact moment the photo was taken because it stuck out so much in his mind. Adam's little brother Neil had just butchered the family's chorus of "Happy Birthday" by singing hilariously off-key. Supremely pissed-off, Adam had been huffing and rolling his eyes in the seconds before his mother prompted him to blow the candles out.

But the second his mother had shouted "Say cheese!" and held the camera up, his face shifted completely. His facial features had flipped, turning his pursed mouth into a brilliant grin. Kris had been amazed at his talent of being so photogenic. 

Not at the time of course--at the time, he'd been too busy giggling with Neil--but through the years of dwelling on the memory, he'd realized just how magical Adam was.

Seeing that picture now, on the news, with the words, "Remains of Missing Boy Found," sent a wave of overwhelming emotion crashing down over him. He had to force himself to remember to breathe. Kris felt nearly every distressing emotion known to man, but at the same time, he went totally numb.

Kris was mesmerized by the photograph. As he stared at it, the room around him seemed to disappear. His eyes roved over Adam's face, memorizing it. The various dots and lines there. The imperfections in his teeth. The few, fine hairs that grew astray from the rest of his eyebrows.

Mentally he compared the image to the Adam he'd seen in his dreams. He pictured the Adam in the photograph with black hair. With less freckles, and more prominent, darker eyebrows. A sharper, clearer face--one that had become more distinguished with age. 

It seemed to make sense. Same nose. Same mouth--hauntingly enough, too, the same youthful, innocent eyes. Kris just shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the doubts that have been plaguing him for the past few days--about his dreams, and whether or not they were real--and just kept his eyes on the television screen.

As he did, he felt something bubble up within his stomach. Some sort of pang, tugging at his gut. But the rest of his body was so numb, so overwhelmed--he was so entranced by the picture that he couldn't even sort out what the feeling was.

A sharp, bleating noise was the only thing that snapped him out of his reverie. He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the picture. But the sound jarred him enough to tear his eyes away from the screen, turning his head to wherever the noise seemed to be coming from. 

His telephone. It was ringing from the side-table next to the couch. Stretching his rubber-like body, Kris reached over the ottoman and grabbed the phone from the table. As he pressed the Receive button, Kris turned back toward the television.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the phone. He hadn't thought to check the caller ID.

"Kris, sweetie, oh my God." Kris sighed. It was his mother. And she sounded terribly worried. "Kris, are you okay? Have you seen the news?"

Kris glanced up at Adam's picture again. That joyful grin and that ginger mane. The hair turned to black in front of Kris's eyes, so he blinked and turned his gaze. Gulping, he mumbled, "Yeah, Mom, I've seen it."

She sniffed. She had to have been crying. And she sighed. "Oh, honey. . . Oh, dear I'm so sorry. This is just awful--I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Kris bit his lip and flicked his eyes toward his forearm, still burning. It hadn't stopped hurting since he'd first woken up with the injury. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm okay." He knew his weak voice would sound the opposite of okay to his mother's ears, tuned to pick up any sign of her kids' distress. "Considering."

"Oh, sweetie," she said pitifully, like she was talking to a child who'd just been hurt. Maybe she actually was. "I can't even begin to think of how you must feel. I know this is all so confusing, because it's been so long. . . We're all--your dad and brother and I--we're all pretty much in shock. But it's okay not to be okay with this, honey--or not to even know how you feel. . ."

Kris closed his eyes and listened to her. Despite the fact that this news was only one revelation out of the many strange Adam-related occurrences that had been happening to him this week, it was nice to hear his mother's reassurance about it. It was nice to know he wasn't alone--if only for this one moment.

"Adam was your best friend, sweetie, and what happened was awful. It was just horrible. And I know we came to terms with it a long time ago, and we've kind of moved past it, but now that this news is out. . . And now that there's closure. . . It's bound to stir up some weird feelings for you, Kris. I just want you to know that we're always here for you, honey. And Dr. Sherman can help you through this too."

At the mention of the doctor's name, Kris bristled. He opened his eyes, feeling an uneasy feeling settle back into his stomach. His arm throbbed. Wasn't he supposed to call him earlier? Like, before Dream Adam had convinced him to call the police and help find his missing body?

"Now, he called me earlier," his mom said, "and said that he wanted me to talk to you first, to see how you were doing. But he thinks it's best for y'all to have a session tonight. Or at least a call to talk about this."

Kris felt suddenly antsy. He jiggled his leg up and down, rubbing his chin with his fingers. What if he had called the therapist yesterday when he said he would? Would he have still dreamt about Adam? Still made the phone call? Would Adam's body still have been found?

"Kris? You think you can do that? I know you're probably tired, and it's getting late, but I think you should. Just to get some of your feelings out. I know you'd open up to him a lot more than you would me. Because he'd be able to help you more." 

Kris sighed, feeling guilty. How could he not call Dr. Sherman now? It'd upset his mother. It seemed he had no choice in the matter then. "Yeah," he mumbled, nodding his head. "I'll call him. And don't worry about me, Mom. Really."

She let out a long, drawn-out breath. "You know I'm going to, sweetheart. That's what I do."

"Yeah, yeah." Kris rolled his eyes. 

"I hope your talk with Parker goes well. But just remember I'm just a phone call away if you need anything, okay? Anything at all."

"Okay," he said, forcing himself to add "Mama" after it so she'd be satisfied. He furrowed his brow at his own detachment. Usually such affection flowed so freely between him and his mother. Why was he feeling so cold now? "Thanks for calling me."

"We're all praying for you. And for Adam. Oh, that sweet, poor boy. Are you sure you're okay?"

Kris swallowed convulsively. "Yes, Mom, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Okay, then. If you say. I love you, sweetheart. And your father does too."

"Love you too," Kris mumbled. He felt himself growing cold again.

After they said their goodbyes, Kris hung up the phone. His body felt like it was running on autopilot, just like it had that morning, after staying up all night. His limbs all felt heavy and trembly. Though he just woke up from a long nap, he was exhausted. All he felt like doing was taking a pill and sleeping the next few days away.

The last thing he wanted to do was call his therapist and talk about his jumbled-up, nonsensical emotions. Especially considering all of the insane happenings that have been going on with him lately. He couldn't tell Dr. Sherman the whole truth of his worries without sounding like a madman.

Nevertheless, only a few minutes after getting off the phone with his mother, he was situated on the couch, his laptop perched on his lap, video-calling Dr. Sherman. 

They'd only connected a minute ago, but already they were getting down to business. Kris knew it was a lot later for Dr. Sherman, since he was in Arkansas, so he was going to try rushing through their chat. "So how are you feeling, Kris?"

Kris forced a smile to his face, merely for effect. How was he feeling? He knew he was scared shitless of every other thing going on in his life, asleep and awake. The dreams, the injury to his arm. The fact that he knew absolutely nothing.

Not to mention his deteriorating performance at work that couldn't have gone unnoticed by now. At this point he had to have been in danger of losing his job.

But how was he feeling about this particular situation? Adam's body being discovered. The knowledge that he was definitely dead. Was he sad? Was he in mourning? 

In some part of his head, he had already known. It had been twenty years. Of course there was a chance that Adam would never return. In fact, after so many years, it was pretty likely that he'd be dead.

Even as a teenager, Kris's parents discussed the possibility with him. At that point Adam had only been gone five years, and Kris's mom and dad had sat him down and given him a long talk about how Adam might not come home again. 

There was always hope but of course it was overshadowed by forced rational thinking. He knew he couldn't get his hopes up.

But this past week--dreaming of his long lost friend--Kris felt a spark of hope that when he called the police, they might find Adam alive at Cassiar Ranch. He thought there might have been a chance of him seeing Adam again. 

So, sure, he was disappointed that that'd never happen. But he'd already been through the grieving period of his life. He still had to deal with the Adam in his dreams, which was taking up so much of his brain that he could hardly even concentrate on the real situation.

Kris sighed. "I'm feeling fine, actually," he settled on, after a pause. He knew that answer was the universal lie, and that Dr. Sherman would see right through it. This session would never be over if Kris didn't give him anything to work with. "I mean, a little confused, to be honest. Kind of overwhelmed."

Dr. Sherman raised the corner of his mouth in a sad smile. "It makes perfect sense." The doctor scratched his gray, stubble-covered chin in what Kris had come to know through over fifteen years of being his patient as the man's "thinking face." He made the same gestures each time he seemed to be dwelling on something. "Adam's been out of your life for almost twenty years. Though he was your best friend at one time, you don't feel so close to him anymore."

Kris bit his lip, fighting the urge to mumble, "I'm a lot closer than you think I am. . ."

"You were his best friend at the time of his disappearance, of course. But that probably seems like an entire lifetime ago for you," the doctor continued. "So I think it'd be perfectly normal not to be in full-blown mourning over this news." Dr. Sherman sighed and cleared his throat. 

"However, if at times in the near future, you seem to be experiencing some grief, or some unexplained emotions, it would be just as expected of a response as no response at all." Kris swallowed, nodding hurriedly. "After all this time, to finally have an answer. It's hard to deal with, for sure. I just wanted to make sure you were okay tonight. To guage your initial reaction."

"Yeah," Kris murmured.

"Since you seem to be doing fairly well for the time being, I'll just ask, do you have any questions for me? Anything in particular you want to sort out?"

Kris let out a long draught of air, considering the question. Clearly he had an abundance of issues in his life that could all stand to be improved, and he believed that talking with Dr. Sherman about them could do just that. But there was the issue of actually saying it out loud. Knowing he was going to sound crazy if he voiced any of these worries--that was pretty off-putting.

Still, he knew he'd kick himself if he didn't broach at least one small part of the subject. The regret he'd felt earlier, when he remembered his failed plan to call the therapist before he had any more odd dreams--he knew he'd feel it again if he didn't speak up. "Actually," Kris started, clearing his throat, "I've--well, I've been taking my pills every day, of course. Except one night I forgot. I've never forgotten before, so I don't know what was wrong with me. But that night, I had a dream. The next night too, even after I took another pill. I just--it's been so long, I didn't know if I'd messed something up with the prescription or not."

"Hm." Dr. Sherman's brow furrowed as he processed Kris's admission. "Since you said you didn't take a pill the night of the first dream--it's understandable that that's what your body's reaction would be. But as for the following night, and--have you had other dreams?"

Kris fought back the grimace tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, actually every night. The past three or four nights." He certainly wasn't going to add that he'd willingly gotten no sleep at all one of those nights.

"That's probably normal--your body has to get accustomed to the pills again so you can get the sleep you used to get. Like in the very beginning when you took them, it took you awhile for them to start working properly. Maybe you don't remember that." Dr. Sherman chuckled awkwardly, scratching his jaw. "You should be okay within the next few nights." He paused for a second, looking ponderous, before speaking again. "Have they been bad dreams or nightmares? Anything worrisome?"

Kris set his jaw, sparing himself from flicking his eyes downward to glance at the message Adam had carved into his arm. "No, I can't really remember them actually," Kris lied, wrinkling up his face as if he was rueful. "I just wake up and know I've had one."

"Okay, well that's good. As long as you're not having nightmares again I don't think they're anything to worry about." 

Kris nodded slowly. Sure, he wasn't having nightmares. But they were pretty damn scary. 

"Now, Kris, since you seem to be doing relatively normal I'm going to let you be soon, okay? As long as you don't have anything else you'd like to discuss?" 

It was an open question. Kris could bring up anything he wanted, and the doctor would help him with it. Kris just shook his head, forcing his voice to sound chipper. "I think I'm good. Thank you, Parker."

Dr. Sherman nodded curtly, still rubbing his face. "Well, I suggest that we talk again sometime within the next few days. Just to see how you're doing." Kris felt a twinge of anxiety pull at his chest at the mention of another call in the near future. Could he bullshit his way through another session? 

"And if those dreams are continuing by the next time we talk, we need to discuss getting you some different medication." The doctor's words startled Kris out of his ambivalence. He'd always had the same meds. "Perhaps you've become immune to this one." Kris's jaw went slack. "Oh, it wasn't your fault, Kris. And it won't be a problem to find you another one that will keep those dreams away." 

Kris pursed his lips together, weighing the doctor's words. If he got a new medication, it'd be more effective than the one he had now. What if it made the dreams of Adam even stronger? God only knew he couldn't handle much more craziness. Or what if it got rid of the Adam in his head completely? Was he ready for that either?

Though feeling his worries piling up like a physical weight, Kris simply nodded his head, mumbling, "Oh, okay."

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Kris. I'm very glad to see you're handling the news so well."

It took all the effort Kris could muster to make a smile appear on his face. "Thanks again, doc. For everything."

Then, Dr. Sherman declared the session officially over, and the men said their goodbyes. Immediately after exiting the video-chat application, Kris slammed his laptop shut and let out a deep huff of frustration.

Usually his sessions with his therapist ended with him feeling some sort of relief. Dr. Sherman always helped him to feel better, no matter what the issue was. But now, Kris only felt relieved that the session was over. He'd just spent the last twenty minutes lying to the man he trusted most in the world. He'd never felt more burdened by guilt. 

Rubbing his eyes, sore from staring at a screen for so long, Kris allowed himself a nice, big yawn. It brought tears to his eyes, it was so powerful. 

He wondered how on Earth he could possibly be so tired after having slept the day away, but then decided not to question it. That was the least important mystery in his life right now.

Accepting his sleepiness for what it was, Kris dragged himself off the sofa and toward his bedroom, once again flopping down onto the mattress. He stared at the bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand. 

He couldn't help but hear Dr. Sherman's words: "Your body has to get accustomed to the pills again. . . You should be okay within the next few nights. . ."

What if that were true? What if he took another pill now, and he could never see Adam again? 

Huffing again, Kris rolled over, shoving his head into the pillow to distract himself from the pill bottle. He wouldn't take one that night, he told himself.

It didn't matter anyway. Within a few moments, Kris was already fading into unconsciousness. Exhaustion overpowered him and reality drifted away.

He heard a voice, a familiar voice, cutting through the darkness. "Are you ready for some answers?"

Kris opened his eyes. Adam. Standing a few feet away from Kris, donning all black. They appeared to be in a bedroom, but Kris didn't recognize it as his own--current or childhood.

The words took a second to stick in Kris's mind but the instant they did, Kris smiled. Answers.

"I thought you'd never ask, Adam."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! As kind of a holiday/New Year gift to you all, I made this chapter really long. This is by far the longest chapter I've written thus far, and it is pretty heavy. There are some parts that are quite disturbing, just a warning--nothing happens, but it is discussed. I'm so excited for you all to read this chapter. This one was definitely the most fun to write. Adam finally explains everything to Kris, so we finally get to figure out what's going on :) I hope you all enjoy. I'll write the next chapter as quickly as I can. Thank you for continuing to read my story, and thanks for giving me such great feedback all the time! You guys make me happy! <3

Answers. 

The word jarred him out of the murkiness inside his head. 

“I thought you’d never ask, Adam.” Kris had responded immediately to Adam’s question—before he’d even completely made sense of it. But now that the fog had evaporated from his mind, he allowed himself to ponder the full weight of Adam’s words. 

Answers. That’s what Kris had wanted all along. Adam was finally offering to make some sense out of the entire mysterious situation. All the strange dreams, some of which had leaked into reality. 

Kris shook his head, willing himself to have heard Adam correctly. Did Adam really just say. . . “Answers?” Kris asked. 

Adam chuckled lightly. The noise came from above. Kris glanced up, and he finally noticed that he was seated on the edge of a bed, and Adam was standing a few feet in front of him.

Nearly six feet of a lean, black-clad, twentysomething year-old body. “Yes!” Adam cried. “Answers!” He grinned down at Kris, shaking his shoulders to show his excitement. 

Furrowing his brow, Kris tore his eyes away from Adam to look around the room they were in. As if he was just now noticing it. Adam continued to talk but Kris barely listened. 

“I’m sorry for putting this off for so long, you know, Kris. . .”

Kris was too busy scanning his surroundings, trying to figure out where they were. Taking in the gold, sparsely-decorated walls, as well as the tidy bookshelf and giant double-doorway that could only be the entrance to a walk-in closet, he deduced that it was most certainly not Adam’s childhood bedroom. 

“It’s just, I had to wait. . .”

When they were kids, Adam’s bedroom was always a mess. Clothes were strewn all around the room, sometimes so heavily that you couldn’t see the floor or the furniture in the room. Records and books were chaotically stacked on shelves, if put away at all. And of course, artwork always decorated Adam’s walls from floor to ceiling. He had so many drawings, photographs, and posters of musicians hung up on his walls that it was impossible to make out what color they were painted.

“I had to make sure you were ready. . .”

The bedroom they were currently in was almost the complete opposite of Adam’s childhood bedroom.

At this realization, Kris’s gaze was drawn back to Adam. The older, taller Adam, with the skinny frame, ink-covered skin, and black hair. Adam, who was now almost the complete opposite of his stout, freckle-smattered, ginger-haired younger self.

“We’re in your bedroom,” Kris murmured. Slowly he rose from the bed as a strange feeling began to wash over him. He ambled toward the edge of the room, wanting to check out the décor that Adam had framed. “Your current bedroom,” Kris added, continuing to walk toward the wall. He turned around and tilted his head at Adam. “You have a bedroom. . .?”

“Well.” Adam cleared his throat, running his hands up and down his arms. “Um, yeah.”

Kris averted his eyes for a moment before refocusing on Adam. He shook his head, at a complete loss. “You have a bedroom. But you’re dead.”

Adam grimaced. “Yeah. . .”

Turning his back to Adam again, Kris looked up at what Adam had on his wall. There was a large poster settled in a black frame that drew Kris’s attention first. It was a picture of the rock band Queen—who Kris remembered as Adam’s favorite—signed by Freddie Mercury. “To a sweet pal,” the handwriting said.

About a foot to the right, a small white frame contained a stamped document with a fancy font. “Mount Carmel High School. . . Adam Mitchel Lambert. . . Having completed the necessary courses of study required by the state is hereby declared a graduate of this school and is awarded this diploma. . .”

A little bit above that, and a tad to the right, was another white frame. This one was much bigger than the one that held the diploma. Half of the frame was taken up by a vinyl record, and next to that was a gold plaque that read, “Presented to Adam Lambert to commemorate the sale of over one million copies of the AML Records Pop Single Record ‘Ghost Town.’”

Kris’s brow furrowed and he quickly spun on his heel. His gaze ping-ponged from wall to wall to find more than five similar-looking frames. Finally, his eyes fell upon Adam again, who was eyeing him suspiciously.

Kris shook his head and spread his arms out to convey to Adam just how much he was at a loss. His mouth went completely slack as he tried to process it all. Adam hadn’t even begun to explain anything and he was already dumbfounded. Kris just continued to shake his head. “What the fuck?”

Adam raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Kris, don’t freak out.”

His head-shaking grew more rapid. “What the fuck?”

“Kris, you already kinda knew some—”

 

“What the fuck?”

“Kris!” Adam snapped, sinking down to sit on the bed. “Jesus! Just let me explain, okay?” When Kris didn’t repeat his usual response, Adam took it as acceptance. He patted the mattress beside him. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”

Reluctantly, Kris crossed the room and hopped onto the bed, right next to Adam. With Kris’s arms folded over his chest, they were at such a close proximity that he knew they should be touching. But they weren’t.

Kris glanced down at their overlapping arms. His elbow was resting on Adam’s bicep, but of course he felt nothing.

It must have been a weird sensation for Adam, because he hastily scooted down on the mattress, stretching out horizontally at the foot of the bed. His long legs were draped over the side, his feet touching the floor.

Despite his confusion, Kris actually found himself smirking at the sight. He and Adam used to lie on his bed like that all the time. They’d stretch out languidly, arms crossed behind their heads, staring up at the ceiling. They’d spend hours like that, talking or listening to music. And their feet never got close to touching the ground.

Blinking himself out of the memory, Kris shook his head to clear his thoughts. That was then. Now, Adam had a story to tell.

Kris just stared at Adam, eager for his explanation. He didn’t dare speak, for fear that he may say something to discourage Adam. 

Adam took a deep breath to steel himself and flicked his eyes over to Kris. “I guess I’ll just start at the beginning then?” He let out a chuckle that sounded more like a sigh. Adam rolled his eyes before closing them. “So, it was that kid Blake’s birthday party. I’m assuming you remember that?”

“Mhm,” came Kris’s tight-lipped response. Like it was yesterday.

“And you remember the magician they hired? The fat guy with the really tall hat.”

Kris only nodded, knowing even a mumbled response would fail him. Of course he remembered. They only showed his picture on the news every single night for the first three years after Adam was kidnapped.

“Damian Black.” Adam opened his eyes and swallowed hard. Some sort of reaction to the man’s name. “He put on such a good show.” The forced wistfulness in Adam’s tone tore at Kris’s heart. “I remember I was the oldest kid there and I was still so amazed by him. I just didn’t understand anything he was doing!” Adam moved his hands up under his head. He looked more comfortable that way.

“I mean, some magicians, like on TV and stuff, they made it kinda obvious what they were doing. Like, there was some secret compartment in the hat to hide the rabbit, or there was a certain order they had the deck of cards so they always pulled the right one. . .”

Kris just bit his lip, wondering how in the world Adam could talk about the man with such a casual tone. But he kept silent.

“But he was just incredible. Magnificent. I couldn’t predict any of his tricks! I didn’t know how he was pulling any of them off. I mean, even his balloon animals seemed impossible.” Adam’s brow furrowed, and he turned his eyes toward Kris. “Even the fucking balloon animals, Kris.” 

Something about the emptiness in Adam’s gray eyes sent a pain running through Kris’s chest. He so deeply wished that he could touch Adam. Place a hand on his shoulder or hold his hand, comforting him the way only friends know how. But he couldn’t.

So Kris scooted down close to Adam, mimicking his position. Lying sideways on the mattress, legs hooked over the side of the bed, arms folded behind his head. Kris’s feet still didn’t reach the ground.

Adam gave him a tiny smile. Returning it, Kris whispered, “I remember.”

That seemed to be the only encouragement Adam needed to continue. He took a shaky breath and began again. “So yeah. I was mesmerized. And you remember when he asked for volunteers for one of the tricks, and he picked me?” Kris just moaned his answer. 

“He had me get in that weird velvet box, and he made me disappear, Kris. I mean, for real. I know what it looked like to you guys because he did it to Blake right after. But he stumped me just as much. I didn’t know where I was—I don’t even remember being in a place, if that makes sense. It was like I was nowhere.” 

Adam shut his eyes again. “And then he said the magic words or whatever, and I just remember opening my eyes and him letting me out of the box. And I got out and you guys were all there. I was back at the party again. And then he made Blake disappear too after that.” 

Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I was just so amazed by that. How he could make somebody move without them even realizing it. So I went up to him after the show was over, and he was packing up his equipment because the party was starting to wind down. And I asked him like, how he did it. How he made me disappear or whatever.

“He said, ‘A good magician never reveals his secrets.’” A shiver ran through Adam at those words. Adam had said them so precisely, and his reaction had seemed so haunted, that Kris was led to believe that he must have heard that quote on more than one occasion.

But still, Kris said nothing. He only silently hated Damian Black—the evil man. The man responsible for Kris sitting an inch away from his best friend and not being able to touch him.

“But, he said he’d do it again for me. He’d perform the trick again, real slow, so I could try and figure it out. So, like the excited child I was, I got in the box again. And I heard him say the magic words, the same ones from before. And I remember being in the nowhere place again—like I was floating through space. But it was different from before. I didn’t know what it was—it just felt different.” 

Adam paused. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit quieter. But it was just as steady as it had been before. “And when I woke up, or opened my eyes—whatever it was—I wasn’t in the box anymore.” Adam swallowed loudly, as did Kris. His stomach churned in preparation for what Adam would say next. “I wasn’t at the party anymore.”

Blowing out a shaky breath, Adam’s next words came out in a chillingly calm murmur. “I was in a dark room. And I was chained up.”

Kris felt a hard punch to his gut, taking his breath away. A suffocating wave of nausea rose up into his throat, and he had to fight to push it back down. The thought of ten-year-old Adam, bound in some scary room. His innocence marred by terror. His freckles covered in dirt, his body, hyper from just having had birthday cake at his friend’s party, cruelly restrained against his will. Ten fucking years old.

Kris had to physically bite his lip in order to keep the violently angry curses from leaving his mouth. The last thing Adam needed right now was his indignant reaction.

Oddly enough, Kris wasn’t surprised to feel moisture leaking out of his own eyes and rolling down his temples. But he was quite awed to glimpse Adam crying. When he glanced over and saw tears running down the side of Adam’s face, his lower lip trembling with the effort it took not to let out a sob, Kris felt like he was being punched all over again.

Just when Kris opened his mouth to offer reassurance, Adam spoke again. His voice was a little less steady than before, but Kris was still surprised out how calm he sounded. “I didn’t know how it happened. Or how long it had taken. Or where I was, of course. I just cried. For like, three full days. God.”

Adam cleared his throat, and his voice grew a bit louder. “I mean, Damian came in the room and fed me and stuff, so I knew he’d done it. He’d taken me away from home, and I wasn’t gonna go back.” 

At those words, Kris felt a chill run through him. Just a few days earlier, he’d found himself hoping that Adam would be coming back. But Adam himself had known long ago that he never would. Adam glanced over and offered him a sad smile.

“He. . . I don’t even know how to say this without it sounding so stupid. But it wasn’t stupid—or meaningless, I guess. It was really bad, actually.” Adam chuckled darkly. “He practiced tricks on me. See, that just sounds so simple. But it was awful, Kris. These. . . It was like. . . It was like torture. I didn’t know what was happening most of the time, I just knew that it all hurt. Christ, there was so much pain. 

“And when a trick didn’t work out the way he wanted it to, he would punish me. Like it was my goddamn fault.” Adam let out a shuddery breath. Kris was thankful that Adam’s eyes were closed again—he couldn’t see the expression of horror that had morphed Kris’s facial features. 

“Anyway, that was about all that happened. He’d just do experiments on me all day and then let me listen to the radio. Or read a magazine or something. And then he’d bring down food, let me take a bath, whatever. Most of the time though, I was totally out of it. He’d knocked me out so many times I barely even remembered my own name. I mean, he kept me alive. Just in pain.” 

Adam opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling with a glazed-over vacancy. Kris felt his heartrate speed up. He knew that Adam being kidnapped couldn’t have been a great experience, but he never thought that it would be this painful. Or this hard to listen to. “Most days I just wished he would kill me. I wanted it to be over. All the pain. Missing my family, and missing you. From day one I knew I’d never get out. I just wanted him to get it over with.”

Adam sniffed. “And one day, he did. He killed me.” Adam’s tone turned shockingly cheerful. “Thank God,” he deadpanned. The shift in mood jolted Kris, and he shifted his head to where he could see Adam. To his surprise, there were no more tears on Adam’s face. And a small smile ghosted Adam’s freckled lips. 

“Ever since I died, I’ve been having the time of my life.”

Kris’s jaw dropped at the statement. He looked at Adam, his eyebrows raised, with an expression of bewilderment. Adam laughed. A genuinely happy sound. Kris felt like he himself was being raised from the dead. Even after recounting such trauma, Adam was still jovial.

“Oh my God,” Kris mumbled, chuckling to himself in sheer disbelief. “Fucking hell, Adam.”

Adam laughed again, sharing the joy with Kris. “I know it, Kris. But it gets even better, I swear. I just. . . I can’t even believe how amazing my life—or not my life, I guess my afterlife?—has been since then. I’ve lived the life I always wanted—did things I always wanted to do.” Adam turned his head and stared unblinkingly at Kris, nodding as he said, “I’ve lived my dreams.”

Kris found himself genuinely smiling at Adam, happy that his friend has been able to find joy after such a nightmare. “You met Freddie Mercury,” Kris murmured. He couldn’t shoo away the smile from his lips—he knew that meeting Freddie Mercury had always been on the top of Adam’s bucket list as a kid.

Adam grinned at him, light sparkling in his eyes. He nodded. “I did. But Kris, oh my God, that’s just the tip of the iceberg! I’ve performed with Freddie Mercury.” Adam averted his eyes and shook his head a bit, as if he was still shocked that such a thing had happened to him. 

“And I’ve met Michael Jackson and Elvis. And Frank Sinatra! Man, I wish I could tell my dad about that one. He’d be so jealous. Oh my God, and this girl named Amy Winehouse! Have you ever heard of her? She said she got into some trouble when she was alive, and a lot of people kinda teased her about it. But she has one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard. You should listen to her when you wake up.”

Kris just nodded, knowing that his opinion of Amy Winehouse wasn’t the main priority at the moment. He had to get Adam back on track. “Yeah, but Adam. . . You have a singing career?”

“Yeah, yeah! Sorry!” Adam rolled his eyes at himself. His childhood tendency to get severely off-topic was still ingrained in him. “Let me go back. So when I first died, I found out that I had all this freedom—I could do whatever I wanted. First, I moved to California. San Diego, actually, because I remember seeing a movie when I was a kid that was set there, and it was really pretty.

“I moved there, started going to the gym and working out, getting really fit—because I was really disgustingly skinny when I died. . .” Another blow to Kris’s heart. Adam had been so chunky as a kid, and the evil man had left him emaciated and hollow. Kris’s fist clenched in his scalp but he gave no other reaction.

“I got some cool tattoos just because I could. And I dyed my hair. Purple at first—but that looked like shit, so I wanted to go brown, but the hairdresser said they’d have to dye it black before brown to get the color right. But I ended up liking black so much that it’s stayed like this.” 

Kris’s hands ached to touch the springy locks, but he knew he couldn’t. The black mane was styled up, but somehow it was still curly and bouncy all at the same time. Kris forced himself not to think of the word “magic” to mentally describe it.

“So after I did all that to my look, I decided to actually start doing things. So I started going to school—I took classes at Mount Carmel High and ended up with my GED. I was kinda surprised they let a 27 year-old in high school, but I guess there’s some rule about letting in people who’d been kidnapped and held prisoner during their teenage years? I don’t know.” 

Alarm bells went off in Kris’s head—immediately he shifted positions on the bed, lying on his side with his elbow propped on the mattress. He stared down at Adam with a furrowed brow, but Adam was too caught up in his story to notice.

He just kept talking. “And then after I finished high school, I started making music. I wrote a lot of songs, and I went to a studio in L.A. to record them. . .”

“Adam.” Kris’s firm voice drew Adam’s attention away from what he was saying. Adam just looked up at him with raised eyebrows, an expectant expression. Kris’s eyes widened, his mouth going slack at the realization that Adam had found nothing startling or out of the ordinary about what he’d just said. “Twenty-seven?” Adam just stared at him blankly. 

Kris felt some sort of weight settle on top of him. “You were twenty-seven when you died?”  
Adam just eyed him warily, in a manner that seemed somewhat guarded. He nodded slowly, unleashing some sort of miserable pain on Kris. 

Kris’s nostrils flared. “Seventeen years,” he muttered. Adam just stared at him through wide eyes. With a kind of innocence that broke Kris’s heart in two. “How did you survive seventeen years of that shit?”

Adam’s jaw worked with repressed emotions. His expression had turned into something unreadable. “I—I told you, I barely even knew who I was most of the time. I was out of it. I bet I wasn’t even conscious for half of it. It just didn’t feel like seventeen years to me.” His mouth twitched up in a sorry smile.

Seventeen fucking years. When Adam had first explained the torment that Damian had put him through, Kris was guessing he’d survived a couple years. Maybe five or six years. But seventeen. That’s practically a lifetime. 

When Kris was seventeen years-old, he was going to Prom, smoking his first joint, and losing his virginity. When Adam was seventeen, he hadn’t even reached the halfway-point of his imprisonment.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through Kris. He tamped down on it, forcing it to join the rest of the fire in his gut.

“How’d you know?” Kris had to make a conscious effort not to grit his teeth while speaking. “How did you know what year it was?”

Adam looked pained. “I mean, the radio. . . The magazines he gave me were a bit older but I knew that the years were passing pretty quickly.”

A new question sprang to Kris’s mind, and he asked it before he even realized he’d thought it. “How’d you know where you were?” Once again Adam just blinked at him, his expression indecipherable. “How did you know where to tell me where to lead the cops?”

Averting his eyes, Adam let out a long huff of air. “Well.” Adam cleared his throat. Kris had broached a complicated subject. “Like I said earlier, I knew from the start that I’d never go home again. I had no hope of ever leaving that place—I knew I’d die there.” Another long sigh. 

“And I really, really wanted to die. But I knew that he didn’t want me to—I mean, I’d been his lab-rat for so long, he clearly wanted to keep me forever. I knew that it’d take something crazy to get him to do it.

“So. One day—I don’t know why it was this particular day. Other than the fact that he let his guard down for a minute. He didn’t have me tied up, he wasn’t doing an experiment, he didn’t have the door locked. It seemed like everything just worked out in my favor that day. I decided that it was now or never.

“So I ran. I made it out of the room that I’d been in since the day he took me, I made it out the front door of the house, and then I made it about a hundred feet away from the house before I realized there was nothing around. Literally nothing. Nowhere to hide. Nothing.

“Within, like, ten seconds, Damian came out and caught me. He dragged me back into the house and said that we’d be doing a really big magic trick as punishment. But before he dragged me into the house, I saw a sign by the front porch that said ‘Domino at Cassiar.’ I remembered it—that name was one of the last thoughts going through my head when he did the big trick. 

“And if you couldn’t tell from what I said earlier—that was the last trick he ever did. He fucked it up so badly that he killed me. Finally. So anyway, when I got here, I looked up the house and found out where I was, and I’d been waiting to do something about it ever since.”

Kris just shook his head sadly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He hadn’t expected his question to bring back the memory of such a terrible day. “What did he do to you?” Kris whispered.

“Anywho, after I finished high school, I recorded a few albums, and I’ve been doing concerts and the songs have been playing on the radio and stuff. It’s so cool, Kris, I want you to come back for another show! Maybe we could perform together!” 

“Adam,” Kris said sharply, a bit agitated that he’d just ignore his question. After offering so many answers, why couldn’t he continue? “What did Damian do to you that day?” Kris’s features twitched before he added, “Or any day for that matter? What happened to you?”

Adam frowned. It wasn’t the type of frown that meant he was remembering something awful from his past—it was the type of frown that meant he was annoyed. At Kris. “Kris, you can’t ask me that. I told you a long time ago you can never ask what happened to me.”

Furrowing his brow, Kris’s lip curled with irritation. Sure, he remembered Adam saying that. But weren’t things different now? “Fuck! Why can’t I? You’ve told me almost everything, Adam. I just want to know so I can help you. I can make you feel better.”

“Kris.” Adam’s voice was soft now, trying to soothe Kris out of his troubles. As if it shouldn’t be the other way around. “That’s not why you want to know—you’re just curious, that’s all. You just want to know for the sake of knowing. You don’t have to lie. I don’t mean to offend you by saying this, but I don’t need your help—I already feel good. I have a good life. And I don’t want to think about what happened to me.” 

Adam let out a drawn-out sigh, and he seemed to reach his hand out to touch Kris. A flash of disappointment crossed Adam’s face when he remembered that he can’t. “I was fine talking about the general stuff because I thought it would help you understand me, and help you believe in me. But I’m not going to go into detail about it. I’m not going to go back to that dark place just because you’re curious.” Adam’s face spread out into an apologetic grimace. “No offense.”

Kris was silent for a full minute, processing Adam’s words. After what felt like forever, Kris sighed loudly. “None taken,” he mumbled. Despite his burgeoning sense of curiosity, he couldn’t help but agree. “I’m sorry.”

Adam just rolled his eyes and smirked—a dismissive expression reminiscent to his childhood. He used to make that face all the time when he was pretending to be a diva. Kris smiled.

“Anywho,” Adam started yet again, “So after about three years of this lifestyle, after one of my concerts one night, I went back to my room.” His eyes involuntarily flicked around the room, to indicate to Kris that this was indeed the one he was talking about. “And I went to sleep, like I usually do. . . But then this noise woke me up in the middle of the night. It sounded like footsteps.”

Kris’s heart sped up despite himself. He felt like he knew where the story was going, but he still felt trepidation about what was coming. After hearing about the terror that Adam had gone through, he couldn’t help but be a little scared.

“So I reached for the knife I keep on my bedside table, just in case it was an intruder or something. . .” Kris was subjected to another pang at the knowledge that Adam now sleeps with a weapon next to his bed. Subconsciously, Kris’s eyes flickered down to the table Adam was referring to. Sure enough, there was a knife there.

“And I dragged my tired ass out of bed. . . Turned on the lamp. . . I opened up the bedroom door to look out in the hallway, see who was walking around. . . And what to my wondering eyes should appear, but Kristopher Neil Allen. My best childhood friend—Kris fucking Allen.” Adam laughed and shook his head. 

“I couldn’t believe it! After all this time, you were here! I mean, you were twenty years older of course, but I’d recognize you anywhere, man. I just—I got so excited. I ran to hug you, but it was like my arms went right through you. That’s when I figured out you were alive—I mean, we couldn’t touch each other, so it made sense. Plus you’d just randomly showed up here. If you were dead, then you would have your own life, afterlife, whatever—you wouldn’t just come into mine out of the blue, you know?”

The corner of Adam’s mouth raised slightly. “I don’t know how I knew you were in a dream. Maybe I didn’t know it until the next night—I remember the next night, you saying it was a dream. And that’s when the pieces started to fall into place for me. But that first night—I don’t know, I just had some sort of suspicion I guess. I mean, you weren’t dead—but it was like you were kinda hazy. Kinda foggy. You just seemed like something from my dreams. But I knew that I couldn’t be the one dreaming, because I’m dead. So it would’ve had to have been you. I was part of your dreams.”

Adam’s face wrinkled in slight frustration. “I know I’m being really blunt about all this, but it’s just really hard to explain everything without saying it directly.”

Kris just smiled at him gently, eyes wide with affection. Adam had been just as confused as Kris had been about all this at first—Kris had never been alone in the situation. He and Adam were in the same boat. They were on opposite sides, of course, but they still felt the same waves.

“I guess that first night I didn’t fully know what was happening. But I put some ideas together pretty fast. You were just staring at me for a while.” Adam’s eyes softened with affection. For the umpteenth time that sitting, Kris yearned for physical contact. “You looked so confused—you looked like you wanted to say something, or ask a question. But you never did. You just looked at me like you couldn’t believe your eyes. It was pretty funny.” 

Adam’s brow wrinkled. “But then, it was like you started fading away. I had no clue what the hell was happening, but I knew I needed to do something. I needed you to help me. I thought that moment might be my last chance to somehow make sure my body got found. You were my only hope. I didn’t know where you were going, or what was going to happen to you—but I had to make you know. So that’s why I cut you.”

A sheepish expression overtook Adam’s face. “Sorry about that. It was ugly, I know.”

Kris simply did the dismissive eye-roll that Adam had trademarked. Adam smiled. “So yeah. The rest, you’re already aware of. The next night, you confirmed that you were dreaming, and I knew that you wouldn’t believe that I was real, so I had to do all that stuff so you’d believe me.” Adam sighed, sounding relieved. 

Kris just raised his eyebrows, attempting to process it all. To understand everything that was being thrown at him had seemed an insurmountable task but Adam’s diligent explanations had sure helped him handle it. 

Adam continued. “I know that is a shit-ton of information to lay down on you, but now that I’ve told you everything that I’m going to tell you, I guess there’s really nothing else to do.”

So that was it. Adam just confirmed that his session of answering questions was officially over. Kris had finally gotten the explanations he’d wanted. Even some that he’d wanted since the day Adam had been kidnapped—questions of how, why, and where that his eight-year-old self always asked.

Kris eased himself back down onto his back, letting out a dramatic sigh of satisfaction. He scooted across the mattress a bit so that his feet could reach the floor, just like Adam’s did. “Well,” he said, looking up at Adam, “I mean, now that your body’s found, too—what’s next?”

Adam shrugged. “There’s probably gonna be a funeral.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Kris mumbled, “Yeah, but that’s the real world. What’s next for us?” Adam’s mouth turned into a small O shape, and his eyebrows had climbed higher on his forehead. “I’m assuming I’m still going to be seeing you in my dreams for a while. . . What should we do now that the mystery’s over?”

Adam’s face lit up. “We can be friends again!” Kris’s heart soared at the innocent excitement so apparent in Adam’s voice. Despite being broken in so many ways, pieces of Adam’s childhood self still remained intact. “It can be just like the old days! We can lie on the bed and listen to music, or go swimming, or try on cool clothes—I’m not going to say play dress-up because I’m 27 years-old for Christ’s sake, but that is what I mean—or we can just talk! I mean you know about my life, but I don’t know anything about yours.”

Kris couldn’t bring himself to interrupt Adam’s animatedly joyous rant, but he felt the room growing fainter. He knew he was waking up. “Yeah, we can do all of that, Adam,” he said, grinning. He was pretty damn excited himself. 

All the scary stuff that had been looming over his head regarding the dreams he was having about Adam—the unknown aspects of what they were, why he was having them, and if they were real are all off the table now. Adam had answered all of his questions.

There was nothing to dread about them now. And since these scary dreams have been the only things negatively affecting the other areas of his life, that meant his life should get better.

“I could introduce you to Johnny Cash! Freddie and Michael Jackson are friends, and MJ was Elvis’s son-in-law at one point, and Elvis and Johnny know each other pretty well, so I’m sure I could get it set up. Won’t that be so much fun? And like I said earlier, we could perform together! I think my fans would really love you!” Gradually Adam’s voice got quieter and quieter. 

Slowly and silently Kris floated out of Adam’s bed, out of Adam’s room, and out of his dream.

Before long, he came to in his own bed. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Kris smiled when he woke up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Thank you all for continuing to read my story, and staying on this journey with me as I write it. You guys rock! <3

Kris was happy when he woke up. For a few seconds, anyway.

He smiled as he stretched his tired limbs, remembering his plans to get close with Adam again. As he rolled over in bed, slipping one arm into the warm pocket under his pillow, he sighed in satisfaction. 

Now that he and Adam were on the same page, his life would start improving drastically. He wouldn’t have to worry about his dreams any more—there was nothing to fear now that Adam had explained everything. 

That meant everything would return to normal. He’d be getting good sleep and having sweet dreams of his childhood friend, which would make him alert and content at work, which, in turn, would strengthen his friendship with his co-worker Ashley again. 

With the promise of happiness on the horizon, Kris decided to relish in his good mood. Feeling a tiny thrill rush through him, Kris reached toward his night-stand to grab his phone. He was going to pick out a nice Amy Winehouse song to dance to while getting ready for work.

He would prepare for the workday, stay in his cubicle all morning to catch up on all the work he’d been putting off, and have a nice lunch with Ashley in the break-room, where they would catch up. Then he’d finish up at the office, enjoy a real meal for the first time in too long, and settle down to sleep and have fun dreams of Adam. 

With those plans in mind, it seemed as if nothing could ruin his good mood.

But as if on cue, when he grabbed his phone, the text messages on his home screen served to prove him wrong. His stomach dropped as he read the first message, and the tightening in his gut only amplified as he scrolled through the list of the texts he’d received overnight.

He was yanked hard, right back into reality.

“Hey did you see the news?” and “Oh man I can’t believe the news. Did you hear?” and “Jesus I just heard. How about you? How you taking it?” were just a few among the dozens of concerned words on his screen.

Each message he read was a sharp reminder of the bleak situation as well as the truth that had been revealed to him last night. Adam was dead. He’d died only three years earlier. He’d spent the last seventeen years of his life held captive in the middle of nowhere, enduring unspeakable torment nearly every waking moment.

At this memory, paired with the vivid image of Adam fighting back tears while telling his miserable tale, Kris’s joy slowly seeped out of him, like a balloon with a tiny hole poked in the side. He set the phone down on the mattress and stared blankly into space for a few minutes, his imagination forming scenes from Adam’s story in horrifying ways.

An unexpected, sharp pain snapped him out of his haze. Immediately his eyes flicked down to the source of the pain: his forearm. Subconsciously, he’d snuck his other hand underneath the pillow and started to squeeze his already-injured limb, applying just enough pressure to make it hurt. 

In the exact same way that he’d used that tactic to keep himself awake the day before, he squeezed his arm now in order to shoo away the negative, frightening thoughts he was having.

He reasoned with himself, laying out the bare facts to make himself feel a little better. Adam was dead—sure. But he was still around—the scabby brand on Kris’s forearm proved that. And he was happy. He was truly, genuinely happy—he was living his dreams. He was happy, and whatever that sick Damian man did to him no longer mattered to him.

So it shouldn’t matter to Kris either.

Expelling a short huff, Kris released his arm and rubbed his eyes, hoping his doubts would abate. If Adam wasn’t upset about it anymore, Kris shouldn’t be upset either. 

Picking up his phone again, Kris scrolled through the messages quickly, this time only checking names, without reading the actual messages. He needed to make sure nothing important got wedged between the well-wishes, so he wouldn’t miss it.

Seeing his mother’s name on the screen, Kris decided to open up the message. She’d already called to check on him last night—she wouldn’t have texted the same thing so early this morning. It had to be important.

Kris read the message, feeling an odd, unknown emotion wash over him as he did. 

“Funeral is at 2 the day after tomorrow. Stay with us if you want. I’ll get your room ready. Lamberts want to have us over for dinner afterwards.”

~*~*~

His morning passed by in a blur. A pretty strange blur, if you asked him. 

It had been a tad awkward, meeting with his boss so he could ask for time off to go to the funeral. He’d have to fly to Little Rock early that day, and he knew his parents would want him to spend the night, so he had to ask for two full days off.

He felt a bit guilty asking for that much off, since he’d slacked off so much lately. Kris had no doubt in his mind that his boss had noticed his less-than-stellar work performance the past few days. 

He’d been wasting time on the Internet while he was supposed to be editing articles, not to mention the times he’d dozed off during work, or when he’d gone home early the day before.

But, as frustrated as she had seemed with him, she accepted that his attending a funeral for an old friend was a pretty good excuse. She’d even seemed a little sympathetic, offering him a sad smile and a half-sincere, “Sorry for your loss.”

After that uncomfortable encounter, he decided to spend the rest of the morning playing catch-up on all the work he’d been putting off. That way he could leave work for a few days without such a guilty conscience. 

He worked diligently to edit the articles he’d missed, approve a few others, and sift through the hundreds of e-mails he’d neglected the past few days. He didn’t get off-task once all morning. He didn’t even allow himself to think of Adam. 

With the overload of work information running through his head, as well as the scar on his forearm being covered by his sleeve, it actually wasn’t so hard to forget about Adam for a while.

It wasn’t until his stomach started growling, when he decided to grab his lunch and head to the breakroom to eat, that Adam even crossed his mind at all. It was when he’d sat down at the table, and Ashley had come in to sit with him, the memories came rushing back. She sat down across from him, worried expression warping her features. 

Immediately Kris was reminded of how strained their relationship had become the past few days. Because he’d been acting weird—not eating or sleeping, coming in to work looking like shit. All of that was because he’d been having those freaky dreams. He’d been dreaming of Adam, and he’d been scared. 

But all that was different now. He and Adam were on good terms now. They were going to be friends, and Kris had no reason to be scared or act weird anymore. 

So he smiled at Ashley when she joined him. But she didn’t smile back. She just raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips in a sympathetic pout. He’d been on the receiving end of that look twice so far that day, but Ashley’s was the only one he believed.

“What’s wrong with me now?” Kris asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. Clearly she saw something else about him that screamed “unhealthy.”

She reached across the table and placed her hand over his, rubbing it in what she must have thought was a comforting manner. “Why didn’t you tell me, Kris?”

Kris raised an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”

Ashley’s mouth opened slightly, as if surprised by his response. But she simply squeezed his hand tighter—more comfort. “Mel told me you’re going to a funeral. Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ash,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. The last thing he needed was for her to give him the third-degree. He chuckled uncomfortably and tried to ease his hand out of her grip.  
“Kris, you can tell me the truth. . .” Her facial features twitched, full of pity, and she deepened her grip on his hand. He wasn’t getting out of the hold. “She said it was your friend.”

Kris shook his head slightly. He hated to argue, but he didn’t want her to worry about him anymore. He was fine. He had no reason not to be. “No, it was an old friend.” He paused before adding, “I hadn’t seen him in twenty years. We were friends as kids.”

“That’s still really rough, Kris. It’s awful.” She sighed deeply, as if she were the one in need of comfort. Maybe she was—Kris knew that he didn’t need any himself. “And you’ve been going through that other stuff lately. . . God, this must be so stressful.” A look of realization crossed her face before she spoke again. “Was he sick or something? Is that why you were acting so weird earlier this week? Did you know this was going to happen?”

“No!” he snapped. He couldn’t help it. Her grip on his hand was so tight that his forearm was beginning to throb painfully. “I mean. . .” He sighed, resigned. He knew that he might as well tell her something. “Did you see on the news last night, that boy—well, the boy’s body—they found, after he’d been kidnapped so long ago?”

She bit her lip, a look of retrospection crossing her face. “Yeah, I think so. I may have seen that or something but I didn’t hear the whole story.”

“Well, that’s the friend,” Kris said. He almost had to look away from her reaction: the pure shock that had replaced the worry lining her face. “He. . . We were like best friends back in the day, and then some guy took him, and. . .” Kris didn’t dare think back to what Adam had told him last night in his dream. All the things Damian had put him through. Kris’s entire “trying to act normal and be nice and calm” mien would be shattered if he let those thoughts enter his mind.

“. . .Then they found him. So the funeral’s the day after tomorrow.” Kris cleared his throat as he finished, just to snap Ashley out of her surprised paralysis.

Her face melted into concern once again. Her hand moved up to circle around his wrist. “Oh my God, Kris, that is just so awful! I can’t even believe that you’ve gone through all that!” The sorrow in her voice made it sound like Kris was the one who’d been traumatized all that time, not Adam. But Kris had to tamp down on his irritation, knowing that Ashley was just trying to be supportive. “I mean, losing him once so long ago. And now to know for sure after all that time—it’s like losing him all over again.”

Kris’s mind drifted back to the joyful Adam he’d dreamt about last night. The one who’d seemed ecstatic about living his dreams and becoming friends with Kris again. And Kris realized that while he had lost Adam a long time ago, he had now found him.

He merely shrugged. “I mean, I don’t really think of it like that. . .”

“Kris, you can be honest with me! Why are you hiding your feelings from me? I know you have to be hurting! We’ve always talked about stuff like this!”

Kris shook his head. Not because what she said was completely untrue—they had always been open with each other about serious topics. But he was definitely not hurting. “Ashley, honey, I really am fine. . .” He tried to wrench his arm away from her grasp but yet again she proved too determined for him.

“What’s your problem? We used to be so close but I feel like you’re shutting me out. Is it something I did? Because it’s just been recently. . .”

“Ashley,” Kris said firmly, so she would actually pay attention to him, “I have no problem with you. I have no problem with anything. I am one-hundred percent fine, and I am one-hundred percent happy.”

“But, Kris, it’s just—”

“Shit!”

Blinding pain shot all the way up his arm. It tingled everywhere from his fingers to his shoulder, reaching a crescendo at the previously-injured forearm. Ashley’s iron-grip had moved from his wrist up a few inches to the exact spot that Adam had used as his message-board. She’d squeezed it just hard enough and caught Kris just off-guard enough to make him curse and flinch away, jerking his arm from her grasp and sliding his chair a few feet away from the table.

He nursed his aching arm, cradling across his torso, as Ashley looked on in horror.

“I’m sorry, Kris, I—” She stared at him with mingled confusion and terror. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you or anything. What did I do? Is it okay?”

“I—” Fuck, it had hurt. She’d gotten him in the most vulnerable part of his body, and he’d freaked out, and now she’d never believe that he was okay, so he’d probably just ruined everything. 

He felt blood drip down his arm before he could even continue to speak. Panic seizing his heart at the prospect of her seeing it, Kris jumped up from his seat, cringing inwardly as he bumped the table when he rose. “I’m fine, I’m just going to go to the bathroom for a minute.”

Trying to give her a reassuring smile, his lips quivered as he noticed the look of alarm on her face. Her eyes were wide, and trained on where he was holding his arm. Kris followed her gaze, heart clenching in his chest at what he saw. Despite the fact that he was pressing his sleeve down on his freshly-opened wound, a thin trickle of blood had apparently snaked its way down his arm, forming a little pool in the palm of his hand. It made it look much worse.

“Kris, what the fuck! You’re bleeding!” The shrillness of her voice grated on Kris’s nerves. He needed to get away. Now. “Weren’t you bleeding yesterday too? That same arm! Shit, what’s wrong with it?”

Kris raised his hand to shut her up. “Ashley! Stop, okay? It’s nothing. I’m just gonna go.”

“Kris, no,” Ashley cried. Kris thought he may have heard actual tears in her strained voice. “I—Just tell me what happened. Please, Kris I’m worried, and you’re hurt, and—”

“Just leave me the fuck alone, Ashley!” Kris bellowed, before storming out of the break-room.

So much for getting their friendship back on track.

~*~*~

Kris went home immediately following his disastrous lunch with Ashley. He figured that had pretty much just set the tone for the remainder of his work day.

All the good, uninterrupted work he’d done earlier helped him justify his decision to go home early. He’d had a much more productive work day than he’d had in days prior. For that small feat, he knew he should be proud.

When he got home, he found a few movies on Netflix to distract himself for a while. He had a fun night planned with Adam, but he knew he couldn’t jump the gun. If he went to bed too early, he’d wake up at a strange time and ruin his sleep schedule again.

So, in order to keep his eager nerves at bay, Kris enjoyed some mindless entertainment in the form of stupid old comedies and played multiple games of Solitaire on his phone. Eventually, he got so bored of the dull distractions that he hopped off the couch and cooked dinner. An actual, proper meal—pasta and breadsticks. He even set the table for himself. It took him forever, since he hadn’t eaten well in a few days, but he ended up eating every last bite.

After his home-cooked meal, he washed the dishes—which weren’t much, since he’d only cooked for one person—and cleaned the kitchen. Each chore he did was unnecessary, but it was a way to kill time. He hated the fact that he had to put off his time with Adam, but he knew he had to—his sleep schedule would thank him.

As he worked, he just kept that old adage in the back of his head: “Good things come to those who wait.”

He took a long, warm shower to take up some more time, and after he got out, he lied on his bed, reading a magazine and listening to an Amy Winehouse album to unwind properly. No matter how much he tried to keep his mind off of Adam, he couldn’t do it. Each minute that ticked by, he was a minute closer to seeing him again.

He was practically giddy with excitement. No amount of absurd tabloid stories or “Who wore it better” columns could calm his jittery nerves. With every turn of the page, Kris saw Adam’s name in the headlines. He saw Adam’s face in every celebrity picture. He couldn’t get his mind off of him.

So, even though he’d only gotten a few songs into the Amy Winehouse CD, Kris decided to call it a night. He didn’t let himself look at the clock, knowing that it was still too early for him to sleep. He forced himself to yawn, so his decision seemed a little more reasonable.

Settling into his pillows, under his blankets, Kris reached across the night-stand to turn off the lamp. His room now immersed in darkness, Kris rolled over and closed his eyes.

And he found himself wide awake. 

His mind was running wild with the vivid, terrible memories of his lunch with Ashley that day. How worried she’d been about him, about every little thing he did—God, it was annoying. Couldn’t she tell that he was fine? But no, she just had to pry into his private life. She just had to interview him about every little detail of his life. She just had to whine and cry about the fact that he was hesitant to open up to her about some of it.

What was her problem? And Jesus Christ, what was her problem with personal space? Why’d she have to keep touching him, grabbing his arms? Why’d she have to pinpoint Kris’s Achilles heel like that? Why the hell did she freak out so much when his arm started to bleed? She’d squeezed it—what did she expect to happen? Did she not think that it hurt? God, she’d just acted so dumb and annoying.

These thoughts running rampant through his mind, Kris lied awake in his bed for about half an hour. No drifting off, no feeling tired. Not even so much as a yawn.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Kris reached across to his night-stand again and picked up the pill bottle. He extracted one of the capsules, knowing that it’d knock him right out. Banking on this, he swallowed the pill dry, and replaced the bottle on the table.

He rolled over again, slipping his arms under his pillow and snuggling into his blanket for warmth. He sighed deeply, and within a few minutes, he was out for the night. Sleep came, just like he knew it would.

~*~*~

Kris woke up almost nine hours later.

When he did, he almost immediately knew something was wrong. He sat up in bed and looked around his room. Sunlight was streaming between the curtains on his window—it was morning, and he’d slept the whole night through.

But the whole night was blank in his mind. He remembered nothing. Just being out—being nowhere. 

The realization of what happened made Kris’s stomach lurch.

Kris hadn’t dreamt about Adam last night. Kris hadn’t dreamt at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everybody! Here's another chapter for you all. Left it with a bit of another cliff-hanger, so I will try to write the next chapter really quickly and not leave you hanging. Once again I just want to say I am so thankful for all of you taking the time to read this story and offer feedback. That makes this all so much fun and is so rewarding. All the love really encourages me to write more -- hopefully after I am done posting this story, I can have the motivation to write/share even more! I've got some cool ideas up my sleeve. But of course, I'm getting ahead of myself. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thanks for everything <3

He must still be asleep.

That was the thought that first crossed Kris’s mind when he realized he’d woken up. He had to be dreaming still. It had to be a dream that was just uber-realistic, one that felt like he was conscious. He had to be asleep—Adam had to show up soon.

With that line of thinking, Kris rolled over in his bed, blankets twisting under his body with the movement. He couldn’t have missed Adam—he had to be on his way. 

Kris decided to wait for him. He stayed in bed a few minutes longer, hoping against hope that Adam would walk through the door to his bedroom soon. But as time continued to tick away, with no sign of Adam, Kris untangled himself from the bed-sheets and rose from the bed with a sigh. 

Maybe Adam was in another room, waiting for him. That had to be it. 

Shuffling across the floor, Kris blatantly ignored the telling signs that he was awake. His forearm ached, from where Ashley had unintentionally reopened the wounds that had halfway healed—when he was dreaming, he felt no pain at all. 

Also, even without his glasses or contact-lenses he could tell his vision was clearer than it typically was when he was unconscious. In dreams, there was always a foggy, dreamy quality to everything—it was a pretty telling sign that he was asleep. But now, everything looked real. 

Still, he ambled throughout each room of his apartment in search of Adam, putting the persistent thoughts of doubt out of his mind. He couldn’t have missed Adam, he kept silently insisting. Adam had to be there.

But eventually, after checking each room twice and finding no trace of Adam, Kris had to admit some level of defeat. His mind was becoming much less groggy from having been asleep, and his body was becoming more alert. He was obviously awake. 

On some level, he still couldn’t accept that as truth. How could he have not dreamt of Adam? How could he have abandoned Adam like that? Or had Adam abandoned him? Either way, he felt a spark of betrayal. 

The official confirmation of his consciousness came in the form of a knock on his front door. When he first heard the pounding, he mistook it for his own heartbeat, he felt it so deep in his chest. The unexpectedness of the noise definitely startled him, making him flinch out of the chair he had sunk into. 

The knock came again. It was so powerful it rattled the doorframe—it sounded like someone was beating down the door. Trepidation washing over him, Kris slowly rose from where he was seated and tiptoed toward the door to see who it was. He hadn’t a clue whether or not the person could be dangerous, and he was in no mental or physical state to defend himself.

But when he rose on his toes to check out the view from the peephole, Kris realized that there was minimal danger. It was no stranger, and it was no one threatening. But it was still someone he didn’t feel like talking to. It was Ashley. 

The tiny flame of hope he’d felt at it being Adam at the door was extinguished. Ashley definitely wouldn’t appear in his dream this way. He bit his lip, leaning his head back in disappointment.

He wished he was dreaming. He wished Ashley hadn’t come to his apartment looking for him. He had no desire to talk to her if it was going to turn into another conversation like the day before. She’d pried too much, and both of them had gotten upset. 

Even from the limited view out the peephole, Kris could tell Ashley already looked disgruntled. Kris was in no mood to see her like that—especially not after the crushing disappointment and confusion he felt at not dreaming about Adam.

He simply stood there at the door, no intentions of answering it. He hardly even dared to exhale—if she had heard him inside, she would have insisted on coming in. So he couldn’t let her hear him.

“Kris!” she called relatively softly through the door. It was almost as if she knew he was close to the door. But Kris chalked that thought up to paranoia. She probably just didn’t want to disturb his neighbors. “Kris, I know you’re in there! Your car’s parked outside!”

Despite his presence being known, Kris continued to keep his mouth shut. She would not see him unless she broke down the door. He wouldn’t put it past her to think about that, but Kris didn’t believe that she could do it. 

“I’m just really worried about you, Kris. After what happened yesterday with us—whatever the hell that was. . . And now you didn’t come in to work. . .” Kris glanced around the room for a device that may have given him the time. He wasn’t aware that it was late enough for him to have missed any work. 

He had to squint to make it out on the cable-box under his television, but he could make out an eleven in the space where the hours were displayed. Again he was appalled that he’d slept so long and had lost so much time. It seemed like that time was completely wasted if he hadn’t even gotten the chance to see Adam.

Although his bewilderment and worries were starting to pile up, Kris didn’t make a sound. He consumed his friend’s concerned words and only felt a tad guilty for them having no effect on him. 

“I’m just so scared about all this, Kris. You’ve been acting so weird lately, and now your friend died so I don’t know what you’re going to do. . . You’re shutting me out, I know that much.” The disappointment in the sigh she emitted was audible through the door. “And now we can’t talk for a few more days because you’re gonna be gone to the funeral.

“I wish you’d talk to me before you leave.” She paused for a while, as if expecting him to answer. Kris’s lips were pursed together like someone had glued them shut. The silence hung between them, cutting through the door, like a real entity. Its presence was heavy. But Kris gave no indication that he was responsible for it. 

“Okay, Kris, maybe you’re sleeping or something.” She sounded defeated. Kris almost squealed with victory—she’d be leaving soon. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know I’m here for you if you want to talk. I do know that you’re going through stuff—and I’d be willing to listen or help you if you wanted me to. It’s just—I love you, and I want you to stay safe.” 

She sighed again, and this time, Kris felt a tad guilty for the sadness oozing from the sound. “Bye, I guess. I’ll see you when you get back.”

And then, the sound of footsteps met Kris’s ears like a glorious song. Prancing toward the door again, he checked the peephole to ensure that she was gone. She had given up and left—Kris was free! He was in the clear. He could stay home from work that day and not see her.

Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh that had been pent-up for the past few minutes, Kris shook the nerves out of his arms and started making his way back to his bedroom. Now that he was off the hook with Ashley, he could do whatever he wanted with his day. He deserved that as some sort of consolation for not getting to see Adam last night.

He debated whether or not to get back in bed. He needed to pack a suitcase for Arkansas since he’d be gone for a few days, but the prospect of seeing Adam was too tempting to immediately pass up. 

Because he’d just awoken an hour ago, he wasn’t tired, but he knew that popping a pill would make him sleepy almost instantly. He could probably get a good couple hours of a nap in with the aid of one of his sleeping pills. He’d drift right off to sleep. That’s what he’d done last night.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. That was it—the pills. He hadn’t taken one for a couple nights—last night was the first night he’d taken a pill in a while. He’d just been going to sleep naturally, and he’d been seeing Adam in his dreams. 

Dr. Sherman had said the other night during their video-session that the pills would eventually work again. It would just take a few days for his body to get accustomed to them like it once had been. His therapist had to have been right. After the first night he’d skipped his pills, he’d been taking them quite sporadically. Last night must have done the trick—with the pills now working properly in his system he wouldn’t have any more dreams.

It was the pills’ fault that he hadn’t seen Adam last night. Taking one had made Adam disappear. If he took another one, he’d have another blank night, with no dreams and no Adam. 

Kris mentally cursed himself for being so thoughtless. How could he not have remembered? The doctor had plainly told him that the pills would have that effect. He couldn’t let it happen again.

Barely realizing he was moving, Kris crossed his room and grabbed the almost-empty pill bottle that had been sitting on his night-stand for months. Holding it up to his ear, he shook it to hear the individual capsules clicking within the bottle. Though Kris could no longer be bothered to know the specific number, he knew there were no more than ten pills left. It wouldn’t be a huge loss.

Stomping into the bathroom, Kris twisted off the bottle cap with ease and dumped the contents of the container into the toilet. The tiny white capsules floated in the water, like they knew they weren’t supposed to be there. He tossed the bottle somewhere to his left—he didn’t know if he’d made it into the trashcan, and he didn’t care. He stared at the pills in the water.

Kris’s mouth twisted into a bitter expression as he pressed the lever down to flush. The contents of the bowl swirled around the pool of water and were quickly sucked out of sight.

Kris felt nothing but vindication. They wouldn’t get in the way of him seeing Adam again.

~*~*~

Kris stayed around the apartment all day. 

He packed for his trip. Although he was only scheduled to be gone for two days, he still found himself with three full suitcases and a backpack to take. While he worked, he put a Frank Sinatra album on in the background. 

The choice of music wasn’t intentional, but it did make his mind drift toward Adam a few times every minute. How Adam had met Ol’ Blue Eyes in his dreamy afterlife. Along with many other musical legends, of course. But Kris just thought about how happy Adam was, living his dreams after having his natural life stolen from him at such a young age, by such a wicked man. 

Kris thought about the joy Adam felt about living the life he’s always wanted. The excitement he felt at getting the chance to hang out with his childhood friend again. At this thought, Kris couldn’t help but wonder how upset Adam must’ve been last night when Kris hadn’t shown up. 

Kris had certainly been disappointed that they hadn’t gotten to see each other, but he knew he was okay. He had reality to fall back on. Adam didn’t have that—seeing Kris was reality for him. Kris wondered if he was Adam’s only true friend. 

Now that Kris knew that he himself had caused the lack of dreams, and not Adam, he wondered how Adam had handled his absence last night.

Did Adam feel abandoned, when he realized Kris wasn’t coming last night? Did he feel betrayed or unwanted, as if Kris had done it on purpose? Did Adam worry if Kris was ever going to visit him again? Did he get upset at all?

After these thoughts swirled inside Kris’s mind for about an hour, hindering him in his suitcase-packing duties, Kris decided to get back on track. He turned off the Frank Sinatra in favor of some Keith Urban—an artist he knew Adam hadn’t heard of, and wouldn’t enjoy even if he had.

With his music playing in the background, Kris found himself working more productively and efficiently, and he got the packing done in just over another hour. 

Around three o’clock, he found himself with nothing to do, but he was starving. He knew he had to kill time. Sleeping pills were no longer an option, so he’d have to wait a long time to actually become tired enough to sleep. He had no other choice but to sit around the house and wait for night to come.

Deeming the amount of food in his pantry too paltry to whip up a good meal, he ordered enough pizza for three people from a delivery place in town. Knowing that traffic wouldn’t be too bad at that time of the day, Kris purposely ordered from the restaurant furthest away from his apartment, just so it’d kill more time.

He decided to sweep the kitchen as he waited for the food. At least he could pretend to be doing something productive. His country music playlist continued to play as he worked, but he kept it quiet so he could hear the knock on the door when it came.

It only took about twenty minutes. Kris opened the door for the man, took the heavy stack of pizzas to the kitchen, and paid him. He offered to share the meal with the guy, knowing fully well that the worker would have to decline. Kris shrugged, unaffected—he’d just done it to waste more time.

Kris picked his pieces slowly, dragging his feet behind him as he went to sit on the couch. At a snail’s pace, he picked up the remote control and began to surf through the channels, aware that nothing good would be playing during the work-day. 

Eventually, after a few moments of deliberation, Kris decided to pop in a DVD. Some thriller he’d gotten from the five-dollar bin that he’d never bothered to watch before. Kris made a point of watching every commercial and preview before the menu screen popped up. He finished his pizza during that time.

By the time the movie actually started, Kris had eased himself down into a lying position, his compact body sprawled across the cushions. He took a few tries to get comfortable, but he found a good position without too much hassle. With a pillow underneath his head and his legs drawn up under him, Kris focused his eyes on the television screen to concentrate on the movie.

He passed out from boredom before the opening credits were over.

~*~*~

Kris glanced around the room. He knew it was a kitchen, but it didn’t look familiar. Based on this conclusion, he surmised he was at Adam’s place once again. The thought sent a rush of excitement and relief flooding through him. 

Adam’s place. That meant he’d been right about the pills. And he’d still see Adam. And they could be friends like they’d planned. Everything would be okay.

Kris spun on his heel and found the door out of the kitchen. Pushing it open he found himself walking into a room he’d been in once before. He hadn’t known it at the time he’d first ended up there, but he now recognized it as Adam’s living room.

But Adam was nowhere to be seen. At least, not from where Kris stood. He heard a noise. Sobbing and sniffling, a rustling sound like fabric rubbing fabric.

Kris took a few tentative steps forward, his stomach lurching. He had a feeling he knew what the noise was.

Reaching the side of the couch, Kris’s stomach dropped completely as he glanced down and realized his prediction was correct. Adam was on the couch. He was practically curled in on himself—as much as his six-foot frame would allow. And he was crying. A lot.

The dread in Kris’s stomach only got stronger. Adam could be upset about Kris not having visited him last night—but that was hours ago. Chances are, he wouldn’t be crying about that anymore. 

Worries niggled his mind. What if something had happened? What if Adam’s sadness had nothing to do with Kris? What if it was about Damian? Or something else terrible that had happened? 

“Adam?” Kris murmured, wanting to get Adam’s attention but not wanting to startle him. He was there to comfort him. Clearly, Adam was falling apart and needed Kris to help him. He’d open up to Kris and tell him about all his troubles. “Adam, what’s wrong?”

But as Kris ventured closer, Adam only shrank away. He wasn’t looking at Kris—his eyes weren’t even open—but it was like he’d sensed Kris drawing nearer. Adam burrowed further into the sofa.

“Get away from me, you jerk!” Adam ground out, before his voice dissolved into more chokes and sobs.

Kris’s heart seized in his chest. He hadn’t seen that coming.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's another chapter. I left it with a little cliffie at the end of the last chapter, so this will provide some insight into that part. Hope you guys enjoy it! Thanks, as always for reading and commenting. You all make me so happy. <3

Kris was so taken aback by Adam’s reaction that he physically took a few steps backward. Eyebrows crinkling in distressed emotion, Kris eyed Adam, who was still curled up on the couch. Shifting uncomfortably on his feet, Kris cleared his throat and began to rack his brain for reasons why Adam could be upset.

Adam had called him a jerk. So clearly he was pissed at Kris specifically. 

But knowing that did nothing to enlighten Kris. He stood a few feet away from his crying friend, still as confused as ever.

The only thing Kris could think of was what had happened last night. His absence the night before, when he’d made plans to see Adam, must have had quite a negative impact on him. Adam had just gotten scared at not seeing Kris, and now he was taking it out on him. That had to be it.

Kris had known that would be a possibility—that Adam had likely been upset, and they’d be able to talk it out when they finally saw each other. But he hadn’t expected Adam to still be this upset. It had been a full day—almost seven hours since Kris had woken up—and Adam was still on the couch, crying. 

The sight struck a nerve in Kris. All he wanted to do was help. 

So he took a tentative step forward, careful to keep his feet light so Adam wouldn’t hear him approach and cast him away again. He just wanted to help, for Christ’s sake. He just wanted to explain himself.

“Don’t, Kris,” Adam ground out, as if sensing Kris growing nearer. “Just leave!” Kris’s heart throbbed at the ragged desperation in Adam’s voice. Almost as if it hurt Adam just as much to say those words as it did Kris to hear them.

“Adam, please.” Kris spoke softly, almost pleadingly. If Adam would just give him a chance to explain. . . “Just let me—”

“No, Kris!” Adam snapped, raising his head up from where he’d buried it in the pillow. As it was the first time Kris had seen his face so far, what he saw was a bit startling. He had to swallow the gasp that had risen in his throat, knowing that it would be offensive. Kris knew Adam had been crying pretty hard, but he hadn’t expected it to be so visually alarming. “Get out.”

Adam’s eyes were swollen, the skin around them red and raw, like he’d been rubbing his face all day. Though it was hard to focus on anything but them being bloodshot, Kris found the gray in Adam’s eyes to be hauntingly dull—as if the light that usually made them sparkle had completely vanished. 

Tears streaked his face in black lines swimming in all directions. Kris didn’t know what was more off-putting—the tears that covered Adam’s face or the fact that they were diluted with mascara. He hadn’t seen Adam in makeup since the night of his concert. 

With that realization, Kris allowed his eyes to travel down the rest of Adam’s body. He was donning his usual all-black fare, but this seemed more elaborate than the other outfits Kris had seen when they were in Adam’s apartment. Tall, lace-up boots hugged his legs from his feet to his knees, and tight black jeans fit snugly everywhere else, clinging to his hips. An intricately-designed animal print t-shirt and a regally-bedazzled leather jacket completed the ensemble. There was no denying it was the outfit of a rock-star.

With the clothing and the makeup fresh in Kris’s mind, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he’d missed last night.

As his mind wandered, Kris stared at Adam, mouth slightly agape. Adam took his silence, as well as his stillness, for something other than disbelief. Perhaps disobedience—for Adam had clearly dismissed him, yet Kris stood firmly rooted in place.

“I’m serious.” Adam cleared his throat as he spoke, scrambling into a sitting position on the sofa. He drew his legs up under him, but he did not bother wiping his distress off his face. His nostrils flared as he continued to speak. “I want you to leave right now. You caused enough trouble last night—just go.”

Kris tilted his head, studying Adam’s facial expression. Kris had caused trouble last night? Did Adam consider his absence “causing trouble”? If he did, Kris knew Adam would have at least given Kris a chance to explain himself. He wouldn’t ruin their second chance at friendship for no reason.

It had to be something else. Kris had to have actually done something to upset Adam like this.

“What—what did I do, Adam?” Kris ventured the question, internally praying that Adam wouldn’t kick him out before telling him. If he really had done something to hurt Adam, he had to know. 

“You’re telling me you don’t remember?” Adam’s tone held an underlying warning in it.

Kris swallowed hard. He didn’t like seeing Adam crying, but it sure beat seeing him angry. “I didn’t see you last night. Is that it?”

Adam’s jaw set in what looked like disgust. “You didn’t see me last night. That’s really what you’re gonna go with, Kris? You’ve gotta be fucking with me.” Adam shook his head incredulously.

Kris opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of what he could possibly say to make Adam believe him. It sounded to him like he’d really fucked up last night. And now, his inability to remember what had happened made him sound like some asshole feigning innocence. He couldn’t win no matter what he said. So he kept silent, beseeching Adam’s face for a shred of belief. 

Adam couldn’t look at him. He continued speaking, his tone one of supreme irritation. “So you ruin my concert, then you—”

Kris’s jaw dropped. “I did what?”

Adam’s face hardened, and his head cocked to the side with his aggravation at being interrupted. But he just pursed his lips together and nodded. “You heard me, Kris. In fact, you were there—you already know this. You crashed my goddamn show, and then—”

Immediately Kris begun shaking his head again. He had to set the record straight. “Adam, you have to believe me. I didn’t dream about you last night. I don’t know why you saw me, but I didn’t see you—I swear to you.” Kris gulped, his words rushing out too quickly, too eager to make things okay again. “I, I—really I woke up this morning, and I was worried sick because I hadn’t seen you. It was because I took some sleeping pills, and they stop me from dreaming at night.”

Kris sat down on the arm of the couch as he spoke, aching to reach out and touch Adam. He bit his lip and squeezed his own thigh when he remembered that he couldn’t. “I really don’t know how you saw me, but I promise to you—whatever I did, I didn’t mean to. Or I didn’t do at all—it wasn’t really me. I’m sorry for whatever happened though.” Kris grimaced, looking into Adam’s eyes. Adam’s eyebrows were furrowed, but they created an unreadable expression. Sighing, Kris started to wring his hands. “Do you believe me?”

Adam stared at him for what felt like an eternity. Kris was tempted to turn away from him, his scrutiny so intense. Finally, he spoke. “Yeah.” There was a guarded note in Adam’s voice that set off alarm bells in Kris’s mind. Kris leaned a bit closer, searching for some sort of giveaway in Adam’s body language—but he was completely closed off. 

Adam averted his eyes and hugged his arms tight around himself. “Don’t take those pills again,” he murmured.

Automatically Kris noticed the hint of darkness in Adam’s tone, but he purposely kept his own voice light in attempt to cheer Adam up. “Oh, no need to worry about that—I already flushed ‘em down the toilet. No more of those.” The forced smile on his face faltered a bit when he noticed Adam’s non-response. It seemed that something still bothered him, although Kris had explained himself. 

“No more of me doing whatever the hell I did last night.” Kris punctuated his statement with an uncomfortable chuckle, hoping to garner some kind of reaction from Adam. But Adam gave no acknowledgement that he’d even heard Kris—other than his arms wrapping tighter around his torso, he simply stared off into space. Adam’s near-catatonic state was not encouraging to Kris in the slightest. Maybe Adam hadn’t forgiven him after all.

“Adam,” Kris ventured softly, “what did I do last night? What happened?”

Adam said nothing, only closed his eyes. His jaw flexed with repressed emotion. It seemed to Kris that more tears fell, but he couldn’t be too sure. He was just about to ask when Adam ground out a few words. “It doesn’t matter.”

Kris’s brow furrowed. The teary voice Adam spoke in completely contradicted his words. Clearly it did matter to Adam. “That’s not true, Adam—just talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

Adam shook his head slightly, lowering his head against his chest for a moment before raising it back up. “No, Kris—it’s not important. It wasn’t real anyway.”

Kris bit his lip. Adam had been about to tell him just a few minutes ago—why wouldn’t he now? What could be so bad that he couldn’t tell Kris? “It is important, Adam—it’s making you upset. Just tell me about it so I can make you feel better.”

“Kris, I already told you, I don’t need. . .” Adam’s arms loosened from around his frame and he began to move them in the air as he spoke. 

“Don’t start with that bullshit,” Kris cut him off sharply. “You’ve been crying all fucking day.”

Adam’s head snapped up, his eyes flickering toward Kris’s. His lower lip sucked between his teeth, his chin wobbling slightly, it was no surprise that his voice was thick with tears when he spoke. A few dribbled down his cheeks, mingling with the black tracks already there. “Just drop it, Kris. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

He sounded like he was going to dissolve into a heap of despair at any second. But Kris wouldn’t let him off the hook. “No, Adam—I know you can’t talk about some stuff, whatever. But this is different. This is me. You have to tell me what I did wrong. What did I do to you?”

“It wasn’t you,” Adam whispered, his voice weak from passing the lump in his throat. “You didn’t do anything.”

Kris shook his head slightly. “But I did, Adam. I did hurt you. It was my dream—whatever happened in it—that hurt you. Because I was there—I get it now. It’s just, those pills I took made me out of my mind, and they made me forget what happened. My subconscious, my mind still had the dream, you see. . . It was all me, and I’m so sorry. Whatever happened, whatever I—”

“You took me back there.” Adam’s voice was barely above a breath. 

Kris could hardly believe that he’d heard him correctly. But the look in his eyes—the haunted agony, just beneath the glassy sheen of tears covering the surface—confirmed that what Kris had heard was true. Only something that sick could make Adam’s expression seem so hollow. Though he knew it in his heart, and his stomach already felt like it was filled with lead, Kris still shook his head in disbelief. “No,” he murmured.

Adam blinked slowly, letting a few more tears fall. “I was at my concert, and you showed up. I was excited to see you, but I was in the middle of my show. So I kinda just ignored you for a little while. I waved, but obviously I couldn’t come back and talk to you until the break.” The length at which Adam was defending his own actions made Kris’s insides slither. This was bad.

“But you seemed to be pretty impatient,” Adam continued. “And I knew you seemed off, when I’d seen you earlier. But I just didn’t expect. . . Well, you kinda stormed the stage during one of my songs.” Kris gasped at the description of his own terrible actions—actions that he’d been totally unaware of. “I didn’t know what you were doing, and I didn’t want to freak anyone out so I just kept singing, you know. But then you grabbed my mic from me.” Adam swallowed audibly. He drew in a breath that sounded quite shallow. Kris braced himself to hear more.

“And I remember noticing how you wouldn’t look at me. It was like you weren’t looking at the crowd, but you weren’t looking at me, either—you were looking through me, if that were possible. But anyway, when you spoke to me, it was like we were the only two people in the room. It didn’t make any sense—it was another red flag I guess.

“And you smiled, and it was kind of a scary smile. But I didn’t know what the hell was happening so I just went with it. Then you said something. You said, ‘I’ve got a trick to show you.’ And I was really confused, so you said it again like, ‘It’s a magic trick,’ and it sounded like you were taunting me, with that. . .” 

Kris’s heart hurt to listen to this, but there was no turning back now.

“You clapped your hands—and that’s all it took, apparently. It was like everything went black for a minute, and the arena was gone.” Adam paused a moment to wipe his nose. He still didn’t even try to wipe the excess moisture and makeup smudges from the rest of his face. 

“When I opened my eyes again, we were back in that room. The room. At Cassiar. You took me there. And I was too confused, and I felt so betrayed that I couldn’t feel scared. But then you came toward me, and you wheeled in this box, and you said, ‘I learned this one from the best,’ or something like that. . . That’s when I got really scared. I started screaming.” 

Adam was silent for a few moments, and Kris wondered if he was ever going to continue. But Kris’s doubtful thoughts were interrupted at the sound of Adam clearing his throat. “So I screamed, and I screamed, and then I—well. . . I woke up on the couch in my dressing room. Back at the arena.”

Kris tilted his head, trying to follow the train of the story. It was a definite challenge to comprehend.

“A doctor was there, and my manager, and some of my band. . . They said I fell onstage. Tripped over a microphone cord and hit my head on an amp. How fucking stupid I must’ve felt, right? Well, not as fucking stupid as I feel now, that’s for sure.” Kris shook his head, still as confused as before. “That whole time, and this entire day, I thought that what I’d seen was part of your dream—that you’d really come in your dream and taken me there, and somehow it had lined up with me knocking myself unconscious onstage.

“But now that I know you didn’t dream about me, it must’ve just been me having some sort of nightmare when I was out. I thought it was you, teasing me because I opened up to you the night before—but it was me and my own stupid, anxiety-ridden brain! You didn’t do anything at all.”

Kris’s jaw went slack at the realization of what Adam was truly saying. “Oh my fucking God.”

“I know!” Adam cried, waving his hand in front of himself, shaking his head in disgust. “I’m the biggest dumbass alive!” He glanced up at Kris and cracked a tiny smirk. “Well, not really alive, per say. . .”

Kris just continued to shake his head in disbelief, grunting as he further processed Adam’s words. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, at a loss for other words.

“I’m so stupid. Here I was, crying and hating you all day. . . And you hadn’t done anything at all.” Adam glanced up at Kris, remorse clear in his eyes, which seemed a bit brighter than the last time Kris had seen them.

Kris couldn’t contain the bark of a laugh that had risen in his throat. “Holy shit, Adam—you really had me scared!” Soon he was completely lost in a fit of giggles. It was all too ridiculous—from having Adam pissed at him, to finding out that it was all just a big misunderstanding. The whole situation was absurd.

Soon Adam joined him in laughter. Their reaction to the misunderstanding was totally uncontrollable. They continued to laugh for a few minutes, until Adam’s face wasn’t the only one shining with tears. 

After winding down a bit, a new thought popped into Kris’s head, sobering him up. Immediately he cleared his throat, trying to shoo away any more chuckles that may come. “Wait a second.” His voice had turned serious once again, and he noticed Adam’s smile automatically vanish at the sound. “So you had a nightmare when you were out.”

Adam’s gaze drifted off again. Kris took the shame-filled expression as a silent confirmation, but Adam still answered, albeit hesitantly. “Well. . . yeah. . .”

Dismay filled Kris’s chest once again. “Does that happen a lot? Do you think about it—what happened to you—do you think about it a lot?”

“Kris—” Adam left the word hanging, pausing for a moment to compose his thoughts. His voice held almost a pleading tone when he continued. “Kris, I already told you. . . I’m not gonna. . .”

“I know.” Kris leaned back on the couch and sighed. It was clear to him that the answer was yes—Adam must think about Damian and what he did to him pretty often. He probably had nightmares about it every time he closed his eyes—who wouldn’t? But it was even clearer to Kris that Adam would not talk about it. Like Adam said before, he would not open up any more than he already had. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. . . I know.”

Adam simply nodded, running a hand over his face before looking back at Kris again. When he did, Kris was amazed to see light dancing through his eyes, making them appear more blue than gray. 

A thick silence descended upon the duo, but Kris was eager to break it. It was obvious to him, despite Adam being in better spirits, that he still felt guilty for blaming Kris earlier. But it was just a silly miscommunication, and Kris didn’t aim to make him feel bad. “Well, now that all that’s out of the way,” Kris said lightly, hoping to put Adam at ease. 

Adam gave him a tight-lipped smile and rolled his eyes, seemingly at himself. When he sighed, it didn’t sound as burdened as before. “I’m really glad you’re here, Kris.” He proceeded the sentence with a sweet smile. Kris’s heart soared at the affection in Adam’s tone. It felt like the tension had finally left the room. “I missed you.”

“God.” Kris shook his head slightly. “I can’t even begin to explain how much I missed you last night. I woke up this morning so upset—it felt like forever since I’d seen you.”

“No, no, Kris.” Adam repositioned himself on the sofa so Kris would have room to join him on the cushion next to his. “I’m not talking about just last night. Just—this whole time. And you’re here now, and I couldn’t be happier.” 

He smiled so broadly, so sincerely, that Kris almost forgot about the near-breakdown Adam had just had over one of his nightmares. Kris tried to put that out of his mind. “I know—it’s just awesome that we get to hang out now!”

“I want to know what I’ve missed with you! I mean, you know what I’ve been up to since—well, you know. . . But I don’t know anything about your life! Tell me everything.”

Kris had to fight back the grin on his face. He didn’t want to seem too cheesy—but he was more than excited to have a normal conversation with Adam. They were finally having a real talk—catching up like the old friends that they were. “Well, right now I’m not really doing much. I guess I’ve been kinda stuck in a rut for the past few years—I don’t really know what I’m doing, you know?”

Adam nodded, giving him an encouraging smile that prompted him to go on. “I, um—well, I live in L.A. now. I moved after college to try getting a job in the music industry. But I haven’t really succeeded thus far. . . I work for Rolling Stone magazine as an editor. I don’t even get to interview rock-stars, let alone be one. But I guess that’s beside the point.”

“Are you married?” Adam asked innocently. Kris realized that he’d probably been droning on about his failures too much—Adam didn’t want to hear useless babble about the job that he hates. The question was just a way for Adam to urge him to change the subject. “I think it would be so cool to be married. . . To love each other, and be best friends, and live with each other, and be nice to each other. . .”

Kris swallowed hard, a wistful ache building within him. It sure sounded fun. “Uh, no—no, I’m not married.”

“Oh,” Adam mumbled, eyebrows raising. His mouth stretched into a grimace. “Sorry.”

Kris waved a hand dismissively. “I actually haven’t dated in years. See, I told you I’ve been stuck in a rut. I haven’t dated anyone since I’ve moved to California. I’ve become an old maid!”

Adam snorted. “That’s that card game we used to play! Man, that was fun.” Kris emitted a chuckle despite his best efforts not to. “Also, you’re not old. I’m older than you, remember? Well—kinda, anyway. I don’t really know how to count it now. Maybe we’re the same age?”

Kris had no problem laughing at that comment. The levity was a welcome party to their conversation. Kris considered his life to be pretty pathetic—he was grateful for any laughter he could get. “I had this girlfriend in high school, and for some of college. . . I thought I wanted to marry her.”

“Why didn’t you?” Adam inquired.

Kris shrugged. “I guess I was scared.”

“Kris,” Adam said chidingly.

“Or, I just wasn’t sure,” Kris amended, thinking harder about the decisions he made, and the epiphanies he’d had all those years ago about his relationship. He hadn’t thought about her in years. “I guess I just didn’t know what I wanted. I remember something always felt like it was missing—from me, not her. She was wonderful.” His mind wandered back to those glory days. Things seemed so simple back then—he was more content, at least. Even if he didn’t realize it at the time.

Adam smiled at him politely. “I’m sure she was.”

Biting his lip, Kris continued. “She was everything—her name was Katy.” Nodding slowly, Kris added, “She lived in your old house, you know.”

Adam’s smile vanished, his head cocked to the side. “What about my parents?”

“Oh.” Kris’s eyes widened, realizing his blunder. Adam didn’t know anything about his family, and he’d just let something slip between the cracks. Kris concluded that it was time to get it over with—he had to break the news to him. “Well, Adam, I have to tell you a few things. . .”

“Are they okay?” 

Adam’s voice sounded so unsure that Kris was quick to respond, “Oh, yeah—they’re fine. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat, steeling himself for the rest of the story. “It’s just, um—well, after you disappeared, they. . . They split up. They got a divorce. And they moved away. Your mom moved to Indiana, and your dad moved to San Francisco.”

“Oh.” The tiny syllable held enough sorrow to weigh down a feather. But it was the only reaction Adam gave to what Kris had said. Kris assumed that was all he was going to get.

“Yeah—I’m sorry about that. For telling you like that. I didn’t intend to have it come out like that.”

Adam rolled his eyes in the dismissive manner he usually did. “It’s fine.” He drew in a quick breath before a smile reappeared on his face—Kris could tell it was forced, but he decided not to comment on it. 

Clearly this situation with Adam was pretty rocky—the mood could shift between them at the drop of a hat. He didn’t want to upset the balance any more than he already had.

“Just keep talking to me,” Adam murmured, sounding exhausted. But Kris had no intention of refusing him. “Tell me about middle school, and how the Prom was, and if you ever—you know, did the deed with anybody—and what was that like, and if you’ve seen any good movies, or been on any good roller coasters, and if you’ve been to any other countries, and how Drew Barrymore turned out—because, woo-wee, she was a mess when we were kids but I know she’s still alive—and what it’s like to kiss somebody, and how your family is, and what about college? I haven’t even asked about college yet. . .”

~*~*~

Kris and Adam talked the whole night through. When Kris woke up again, regaining consciousness on his couch, he was a tad surprised to find light streaming in through the curtains on the windows. He’d fallen asleep early the afternoon before—he expected he’d wake up in the middle of the night, to nothing but a dark room.

But somehow he’d slept the entire night. He sat up, feeling stiff and lethargic from so many hours of idleness. Stretching, he felt a tiny spark of worry ignite in the pit of his stomach. If he didn’t already have such laughable sleep troubles, he’d think he was developing a pretty gnarly sleep disorder.

Rising from the couch, joints aching from actually being used after so long, Kris shuffled through the living room, heading to his bedroom. He checked the clock on the way. 

 

While his heart seized at the sight, he had to breathe a sigh of relief as well. If he’d slept any later, he’d have been in real danger. He was meant to be at the airport in half an hour. 

He had to catch a flight to Little Rock.

~*~*~

It wasn’t hard for Kris to fall asleep on the plane.

Flying always gave him anxiety—and he’d been having such extra helpings of nervousness lately that his plane-sickness multiplied. Because of that, he indulged himself with a glass of red wine, poured by the helpful flight attendant.

The fear he felt, paired with the calmness that the drink provided, mingled to create a nice cocktail of mixed emotions. Eventually, the dread in his stomach reacted with the wine to create a sedative of sorts.

The words “sleep disorder” still swirled in his mind. But he didn’t pass it up. He figured a nice little nap—and a dream of Adam would help his time in the air pass more quickly and enjoyably. 

He drifted off peacefully somewhere in the air between New Mexico and Oklahoma. 

He couldn’t have been more pleasantly surprised to find himself back in Adam’s childhood home—the bonus room, where they used to sit and listen to music for hours when they were kids. 

“Kris!” Adam squealed, hopping off the couch and shuffling toward the record player on the counter. “Kris, oh my God, I didn’t know you’d be back so soon! I have to show you something.”

Kris grinned, flopping down onto the sofa and watching Adam’s joyful movements. “Yeah, I’m on the plane to Arkansas now. I had to sleep or I’d drive myself crazy.”

“I know what you mean!” Adam called over his shoulder, still fiddling with the record player. “Flying seems pretty scary.”

Kris didn’t allow himself to focus too hard on the sad innocence in Adam’s statement. Adam would never know what it was like to fly in an airplane. But Kris could spend a lifetime dwelling on all the things Adam would never have a chance to do—so he buried that thought deeper.

Soon he didn’t have to spend much energy distracting himself. He heard the familiar pop of the needle landing on the vinyl, the static of the speakers the turntable was hooked up to. Adam crossed the room with the album sleeve in-hand, keeping the cover flush to his stomach so Kris couldn’t see it.

Kris just smiled at him, confusion clear in his eyes. A guitar strumming quickly filled the air—the sound so rich and soulful it raised chills on Kris’s arms. A tender voice joined the music, singing, “Died last night in my dreams. . .” Kris’s heart nearly stopped. He recognized that voice. “Walking the streets of some old ghost town. . .” 

His jaw went completely slack, and his eyes flicked from the record player to Adam, trying to connect the two. Adam’s face was overtaken with a proud, beaming grin, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Swiftly he spun the album cover around, allowing Kris to see the picture on the front.

Kris could hardly believe his eyes. Adam’s face was on the cover of an album. His ears were just as pleasured by what was happening—the heavenly voice streaming through the speakers was Adam’s. “Now I know my heart is a ghost town. . .”

Adam let out a high-pitched laugh, sounding as excited as a little kid. “I just got this today! It wasn’t meant to be released on vinyl ‘til next week but it came early! Isn’t it so cool?”

Kris shook his head, his face barely containing his beaming smile. “This is incredible, Adam! This is the best thing I’ve ever seen. And heard. God, this song is amazing, Adam!”

“Shhh!” Adam waved his hand toward Kris. “This is the best part!”

Kris thought the best part was the entire album. Each song rocked him to his core, sending chills up his spine, lighting his insides on fire, and making his heartrate accelerate. He’d never heard an album that made him feel more alive.

He and Adam just curled up on the couch and listened to the masterpiece, Adam occasionally offering commentary on lyrical choices or the recording process. By the end of their hour-long listening session, Kris had found his new favorite album. 

As well as his new favorite pastime. He had a feeling he’d be listening to this album a lot in the future. He’d never get enough of it.

When the last few notes of the final song played out and the arm of the needle clicked over to make the record stop spinning, signaling the end of the album, Adam straightened up on the sofa and looked at Kris with a question on his face. Kris simply grinned back. “So, did you like it?” Adam asked hesitantly.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kris deadpanned. Adam’s eyes widened. “That was the best thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life!”

Adam visibly sighed with relief. “Oh my God, thanks, Kris.”

Kris lifted a leg to fold under himself on the cushion, turning to face Adam. He wanted to continue talking about the album. His skin was practically humming with excitement. “Adam, I’m not kidding. ‘Another Lonely Night’ was a goddamn work of art! And ‘Heavy Fire’. . . Jesus Christ, my heart almost stopped beating. Oh Lord, and what about ‘There I Said It’? Tell me that’s not the greatest song you’ve ever sung.”

Adam chuckled, shoulders growing less tense. He seemed to relax a bit more. “God, Kris, you sound like one of my fans.”

“Well, I’m not one of your fans, Adam.” Kris shook his head. “No, I am your biggest fan! I’m your number one.”

They both laughed, matching joy on their faces. But the longer Kris looked at Adam, the blurrier he became. He knew what that meant. Still, he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

“You know, if you liked this album so much, maybe we could listen to my other two someday.”

Those were the last words Adam heard before everything disappeared.

Kris’s consciousness flooded back quickly, a sharp jostling of his shoulder yanking him out of dreamland. Blinking away the fog in his mind, Kris turned to the side to see his neighbor, the one who’d begged him for the window seat, shaking his shoulder.

“Time to get off,” the guy said, pointing to the aisle that was quickly becoming congested with the other passengers of the plane. “Can’t believe you slept through the landing. Man, you were out. Must’ve been dreaming good.”

Kris smiled halfheartedly at him, hoping the guy would swap his ambivalence for sleepiness. Making sure he still had his phone and wallet in his front pockets, Kris rose from his seat and took a step into the aisle. 

Leaning down, he glanced out one of the tiny windows to see the beautifully average Little Rock Airport waiting for him. He felt a dip in his gut, thinking of how he’d have to dodge crazy people, hunt for his luggage, and find a taxi to take him to Conway. Airports were almost as bad as airplanes themselves.

As he stepped off the plane, he heaved a hearty sigh. He wished there was a way he could stay in his dreams with Adam—without ever having to worry about waking up and dealing with the real world.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been a looooong time since I've posted last, and I'm really sorry about that! School has been so hectic lately I haven't had any time to write! But as I've promised, I am never going to stop posting. It may take a while, but we'll get there. 
> 
> Anyway, I really hope that you guys like this chapter. It's really long. And something quite important is revealed. Hopefully I will post the next chapter quicker. Thanks so much for reading! You guys always make me so happy with your comments. <3

It had never been so difficult for Kris to visit Arkansas before. But now that the whole Adam situation had begun, everything seemed different. Still, he was quite astounded that it was hitting him so hard. 

At home in LA, he could pretend everything was okay—he relied on thoughts of Dream Adam to get him through the day, and that made him happy. But here in Arkansas, the air was tinged with a much darker mood—the tragic reality of what had happened. Even though Kris got to see Adam every night, Adam’s life was still savagely ripped apart when he was a kid. It was impossible for Kris to ignore the brutal truth as he travelled through the streets that he and Adam used to play in.

In the taxi on the way to his parents’ house, Kris felt a deep tugging in his chest as he came to the clear realization: Adam was everywhere. 

It wasn’t just in their neighborhood, either—it wasn’t just the memories of their childhood, roaming around in their backyards and living the few years they had together. No—it was everything.

It was the trees—the crisp October air had transformed the trees into giant orange pom-poms. The golden tints were reminiscent of young Adam’s strawberry-blond locks. Ladybugs zoomed through the air, peppering the scene like tiny, brown freckles. Just like Adam’s. 

Even the sky above was an impenetrable autumn gray. Kris had experienced enough Arkansan life to know that when the sun set, the sky would morph into a semi-periwinkle color that would exude the same surreal calmness as Adam’s eyes.

The reminders of young Adam wound the tapes of childhood memories in Kris’s head—memories which would be nostalgic for anyone else. Fun memories of Kris playing with his best friend—they were not fun for him. They were tainted with the dark knowledge he held—Adam being taken, Adam being tortured to death. That was the truth. Everything else was a lie.

As the taxi driver wound through the streets leading to his neighborhood, Kris’s mind drifted further. With the tightness in his gut, he had no desire to return to Arkansas ever again. It was too painful now that he knew just what Adam had gone through. How much he had suffered.

But it was likely that Kris would have to come back for Thanksgiving. Or Christmas. In the throes of winter, when the skies would be stony and dark, the insects would be long gone, and the trees would be bare. Which would only remind him further of the horrifying fate Adam had met. All the features that now reminded him of young Adam would be dead and gone by the time winter came—just like Adam.

These troubles weighing heavy on his mind, Kris could not even cheer himself up with thoughts of current-Adam. The Adam from his dreams—the one who was living life to the fullest, most satisfying extent that he could. 

It couldn’t work for Kris. Despite how happy Adam was now, it didn’t erase what had happened to him. It didn’t erase what Kris was seeing—everywhere he turned, from the sky to the trees, was evidence of Adam’s innocence being stolen from him.

Most of all, it didn’t erase what Kris was feeling—complete and utter dread at the prospect of seeing his family and going to the funeral. 

The only thing Kris felt like doing at the moment was talk to Adam—if he could just see Adam smile, maybe he could rid his mind of the ghastly thoughts that were plaguing him. Or if Adam was upset, maybe Kris could get him to open up so they can both move past what had happened.

Either way, as he saw the taxi pull into his parents’ driveway, he knew that seeing Adam would have to wait.

~*~*~

Typically, an afternoon at the Allen home was an affectionate, fun-filled affair. When Kris visited for holidays and birthdays, there were hardly moments that he didn’t have a smile plastered on his face, laughing at some silly joke or simply appreciating the quality time with his family.

But now, Kris felt no joy at being home. After half an hour, he was itching to leave.

From the second he’d gotten home, they’d been rubbing at his last nerve, making him crabby at the prospect of seeing anyone else that day. 

His mother and father had swarmed him, his mom hugging him tightly and probing him with questions about how he felt, and his dad smiling at him in a pitying manner that Kris would like to never see again. 

They both showed concern over his appearance. He’d gotten so used to seeing his gaunt, baggy-eyed face in the mirror this past week that he’d barely noticed anything out of the ordinary. But his mother had looked appalled. She seemed to only half-believe his explanation that he’d been missing some meals and sleep because work had been hectic lately. It was only half-true, anyway.

There was no happy medium between them. Especially not with Kris’s brother, Daniel. Usually, the brothers were rough on each other, both physically and verbally—tackling and hitting, while calling each other names and trash-talking. They both considered it playful banter that proved their brotherly affection for one another.

But now, Daniel treated him like he was made of fragile glass. He merely patted him on the back, and when they spoke, Daniel could barely look him in the eyes. Daniel said nothing rude or crude—there was no teasing between them. Even when Kris tried, his brother did not reciprocate.

They all pitied him. They all acted so carefully around him, worried that a single misstep would cause him to break down in grief. They assumed that he’d start crying over Adam at any minute. Little did they know, that would never happen—and the implications that it would became increasingly annoying as Kris passed the afternoon at home.

Though Kris was dreading the funeral just as much as any normal person would, he was counting down the minutes until he could go, just so he could leave the tense air of the house. 

At the funeral, he knew there would be hundreds of other people expected to mourn. The spotlight would no longer be on him.

He couldn’t help but look forward to that, just a little.

~*~*~

The ceremony was not what Kris had expected, to say the very least.

Immediately upon his family’s entrance into the funeral home, Kris was wrapped in a hug by none other than Leila Lambert. Stunned into silence by the gesture, Kris simply melted into the embrace and allowed his irritation at his own family to dissipate. Leila Lambert’s hugs could cure just about anything.

“How are you, Kris? God, I haven’t seen you in years. You are so grown up!”

It sounded like something that would be said at a family reunion. In typical Leila fashion, she seemed genuinely glad to see him. Of course she was offering him comfort before he had a chance to comfort her—that was how the Lamberts worked. Adam got it honest.

He had to withdraw a bit from the embrace to actually answer her—somehow her hair had plastered itself to his mouth from the quick collision. He stepped back a little, a tad surprised to see Neil and Eber approaching them from the side room. They all greeted each other, and the Lambert men moved to talk to Kris’s family before Kris could respond to her question.

“Oh, I’m just fine, Mrs. Lambert—but I mean, this is just awful. I can’t even comprehend how you must be feeling. Can I do anything for you? Do you want to sit down?”

Leila patted his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He was astounded to see her smile at him, pity clear in her eyes. As if he were the one going through hell. 

“I’m okay right now, sweetheart. It’s okay. I know that we were all wishing for him to come home safe to us someday. . .” Leila shook her head, biting her lip sadly. “But it’d been so long—Eber and I, and Neil, we all. . .well, we prepared for the worst. We knew this was a possibility.

“It’s—it’s been a terrible week, that’s for sure. To match all the other terrible weeks that we’ve spent dealing with this, I guess. It was hard to accept defeat—hard to get our hopes let down. But I feel like we already knew, somehow—we had to let go a few years ago. And now we have closure. And it’s awful to realize that it’s over—there’s no more hope—but, we know he’s okay now.” She sighed deeply, surprising Kris that she didn’t even sound fatigued. 

Kris absorbed her words carefully, and they hastily morphed into a unique sense of clarity. In his mind flashed images of the Adam in his dreams, telling Kris stories of his boldly-lived afterlife. He was okay, like Leila said. No more pain.

Another scene flashed into his mind—when Kris asked Adam to tell him what had happened, and Adam had refused. He did so on the grounds that it didn’t matter anymore—he was happy now, and that’s all that was important. 

Those words echoed Leila’s almost word for word—Kris had to fight not to see Adam’s features in Leila’s face. Her perfect teeth, her plump lips, even the freckles that dotted her shoulders and chest. Suddenly he felt a prickle at the back of his throat.

The realization in front of him made him think that there was a certain truth to what the Lambert pair had told him—maybe it truly didn’t matter what had happened to Adam. Maybe he should stop worrying so much about it. 

“We know for sure—no matter what happened to him, we know that he’s safe, and he’s not in any pain now. And that’s enough for me.”

Kris nodded rapidly, throwing his arms around Adam’s mother. “Me too, Leila,” he murmured against her shoulder, his voice thick with tears. A few tears escaped his eyes, but he wasn’t even ashamed.

~*~*~

The Lamberts encouraged Kris’s family to sit with them during the ceremony. On the front row, which was usually reserved for strictly family members.

Kris remembered from childhood—because he would always juxtapose Adam’s family tree with his own, wondering why Adam had so many fewer branches than he did—that Adam didn’t have many relatives. His grandfathers on both sides had passed away before he was born. Eber’s mother had died a few years after Adam’s disappearance; Leila’s own mother was too old and frail to travel from Indiana to Arkansas for the service.

Also, Adam’s parents were both only children. He had no aunts and uncles, therefore, he had no cousins. Right now, Adam’s family only consisted of Leila, Eber, and Neil. The Allens, as their next-door neighbors for several years, were the closest thing to family that they had.

Kris plopped himself down in the seat right next to Neil. Leila and Eber went to greet the other guests as they entered, and Kris’s parents went to talk to the people they knew about how sad the occasion was. Kris’s brother Daniel left to chat with some of his old high school buddies in the corner.

Nearly the whole town was there. When Kris scanned the room, he had a hard time remembering that it wasn’t 1992 anymore. The people he’d gone to elementary school with, the people who had long since moved away from Conway, they were all there. Sitting close to their parents like they were still ten years old.

Nothing like the death of a childhood friend to make grown adults revert back into kids.

He saw his ex-girlfriend Katy sitting with her parents in the middle of a row. A few rows behind that was Blake and his family—Blake’s birthday party was where that magician had taken Adam from. With both of these circumstances destined for awkward conversation, Kris had no desire to talk to either of them. He simply waved at them, offering a tight-lipped smile from the comfort of his seat. 

“Crazy how many people have come back for this, huh?” Neil said, glancing around the room just like Kris had been. “It’s like a class reunion in here.”

Kris breathed a chuckle. “Yeah, I know what you mean. I remember it being bad for the whole community back then—the search parties and vigils and stuff. But I mean, it’s been twenty years—it’s all kinda crazy, don’t you think?”

Neil nodded. “Mhm. I know I’m not the best judge, since I was only six when he was gone, and I don’t remember hardly anything about it. But I don’t really get why we’re doing this. We all already knew, am I wrong? We’d all accepted it a long time ago.” Neil looked up at him, and Kris must have had a strange look on his face, for Neil shook his head. 

“Again, I don’t mean to sound uncaring. I just don’t remember Adam very much, so my perception is different from everybody else.” 

Kris shook his head, wanting to convey to Neil that he wasn’t offended—even though he was, a little bit. Neil was saying the same things Leila had said earlier, but they sounded so much harsher coming out of Neil’s mouth. He did sound uncaring—but Kris tried to ignore it in light of the larger point he was trying to make.

“I tried to talk Mom out of it, but she’s been so crazy this week. Don’t let her calmness fool you; she’s been acting like a maniac all week. I had to refer back to some arguing tips from my Political Science books just to convince her not to buy a casket.” 

At this prompting, Kris’s eyes flicked up to the front of the room. There was a podium, where a speaker would stand soon. To the left of that was a blown-up picture of Adam—young, ginger, chubby Adam—in a gold frame. And slightly behind that was a table surrounded by flowers. On top of the table sat a large urn.

The sight irked him for some reason. Kris didn’t know what it was—was it the fact that he’d been cremated? Because Kris saw him in his dreams, pretty much alive, yet his body was actually just a few gallons of ashes in a vase? That was unsettling, to say the least.

Or was it the juxtaposition of the picture to the urn? The photograph of Adam showed a young boy who couldn’t have been more than four feet tall, but the urn was huge—appearing as if it would contain the remains of a grown man. 

That stark contrast was a testament to the last years Adam had lived. He had lived for seventeen more years after the photo was taken—seventeen years full of torment—and he had grown up during that time. He had become someone big enough to require such a full-sized vase. 

And his parents were never able to see him like that. The realization reminded Kris once again of how fucked up the whole situation was. 

He focused harder on what Neil was saying so he could distract himself. Adam wouldn’t want him to worry about what had happened. He had to stop thinking about it.

“So, Leila wanted to get a casket?” he asked, scratching his head. Tears once again threatened to pool in his eyes but within a few seconds the mistiness passed.

Neil rolled his eyes, looking incredulous. Like it had been a source of great irritation to him all week. “Oh yeah. At one point, she even wanted it open. It was ridiculous—it just wouldn’t have been right.”

Kris’s brows furrowed. “Damn, an open casket? How would that have been possible? He died three years ago—how would that have been okay?” Kris winced, wondering if his knowledge had come off as suspicious. Clearing his throat, he amended quickly, “It was on the news.” 

Neil didn’t bat an eye. “Apparently the freak kept him on ice after he killed him.” Neil shrugged, but Kris couldn’t match his nonchalance no matter how hard he may try. The thought of Adam, murdered and stuffed in a freezer—it made his skin crawl. “So he was like, preserved pretty well. I don’t know how that stuff works. But he didn’t look that bad.”

Dozens of questions raced through Kris’s mind in response to Neil’s revelation. The ones that were always there, about why there were such cruel people in the world, and why he could see Adam in his dreams, along with some newer ones. Why had the bastard kept him in a freezer? Had Neil actually seen his brother’s body? 

“You know, I’m really glad I can talk so freely around you. Mom doesn’t like me to talk about it. At all. Especially not like this.”

Kris nodded, straining to offer Neil a close-lipped smile. “So. . .” he started tentatively, “Your mom wanted an open casket?”

“Yeah—insane, right? She wanted to see Adam all grown up—my dad, too, but he wasn’t as relentless about it. She wanted everybody to see him one last time. It sounded creepy to me. And so very, very wrong.” 

Kris shook his head, not fully understanding Neil’s vague language. “What do you mean, wrong?”

“Well, my mom thought they could cover it up with good clothes—they could make his body look normal again. But it was just too much—that would have been so freaky.”

Again, Kris failed to understand. “Normal? I thought you said his body was preserved? He looked okay?”

“No, that wasn’t the problem.” Neil shook his head. “I forgot they didn’t say this on the news. My mom begged them to keep it out of the media, and the sheriffs who found him—they felt so bad about dropping the ball with the investigation that they agreed to leave it out of the statement. It was too gruesome, she said, and she didn’t want people to remember Adam like that.”

Kris’s stomach dropped with Neil’s words. His heart thumped with dread at the possibility of what Neil could possibly say next. What could possibly be so gruesome that Kris didn’t already know? 

“You see, it was bad—well. . . When that fucker killed Adam, he—” Neil cut himself off as Leila and Eber joined the row in the seats next to him. “Hey, Mom and Dad.”

“Ceremony’s gonna start in just a few minutes,” Eber mumbled.

Kris took a deep breath, knowing their conversation had just been interrupted for good. He was saved from hearing the gruesome details of Adam’s death. His stomach was in knots just at the thought. His fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. Was he really ready to hear it anyway?

Quickly, Daniel and Kris’s parents joined their row, and the din in the funeral hall grew quieter as a well-dressed man walked to the podium at the front. It was clear the service was going to begin.

Neil leaned over to Kris. “I’ll tell you later,” he whispered in his ear.

Kris almost hoped that he wouldn’t.

~*~*~

After the funeral service, the Lamberts wanted to join the Allens for dinner. 

Kris wondered if they really wanted to catch up with them, or if the Lamberts just yearned for some familiar comfort in the town in which their child was taken from them. Surely it had to be hard for them to come back to Conway—so many memories of Adam lurking behind every corner. There was a reason they had moved away all those years ago.

Either way, once both families were together in one house, the intention of the gathering didn’t matter. Their company was like old times. Kris had flashbacks to when the neighbors would have dinner together—all the adults would have drinks and talk about boring stuff while Kris, Adam, and their brothers went to the bonus room to play.

Back in the old days, the Allens would always visit at the Lambert house—their house had a bigger dining room to accommodate them. But now, they didn’t own that house anymore—a middle-aged Asian couple had moved in when they left town. And Kris and the other kids didn’t “play” anymore, either. So they all sat cozy in the living room together, talking.

Kim Allen mentioned that she would make dinner, but Leila was much too nice to accept that. She didn’t want to intrude—she insisted on ordering pizza, and paying for it herself. 

After they called for the pizza, Eber leaned toward Kris’s father. “You got any liquor, Allen?” Kris watched as his father bristled the slightest bit. Eber had always been pretty gruff, but he hadn't been around it in a while. "I think we all deserve some drinks--it's been a bad week."

"Here, here!" Leila cried in agreement. Neil shook his head at his parents but offered no qualms about getting a drink.

Within five minutes, Kris helped his father wheel in a cart full of bottles of alcohol and all the fixings. Daniel helped their father make drinks for everyone.

Settled back in various seats spread throughout the room, clutching their individual cocktails or whiskey tumblers, they all relaxed enough to forget the years between them and catch up with each other.

Kris’s parents insisted on going first since they’ve obviously had the most boring lives out of all of them. Nothing had changed since Leila and Eber left town. Neil Allen still worked as a carpenter selling pieces to furniture stores around Little Rock, and Kim was still a teacher. 

At first, Kris grimaced at the thought of nothing changing between his parents in the past twenty years—how mundane could a life possibly be? But then he compared it to his own life, which was practically in shambles. His secondhand embarrassment swiftly turned into jealousy: his parents’ lives were stable—they had good jobs, they had each other, and they were well-established. They were content—and that was nothing to make fun of.

Kris volunteered to tell his story next, since he didn’t have much to brag about either. “Well, I went to Arkansas State, as you may remember. I played baseball for a while but then I quit to work on the university’s newspaper. And then, after college, I moved to LA to get a cool job somewhere—and that failed. I work for Rolling Stone as a copy editor. The most boring job in the world. So there you have it.”

Daniel went next, at Kim’s prompting. She had made an over-the-top eyebrow waggle to spur him into action. As if to say, clearly the Allen family’s goings-on were just the appetizer. Nobody cared about them—they all wanted to know what the Lamberts had been up to. 

Rolling his eyes, Daniel began to tell stories of dropping out of college and opening up his own bike shop in Dallas. His girlfriend owned the bakery next door and they shared an apartment downtown. 

“Wait, who’s your girlfriend? I didn’t know about this,” Kris said, widening his eyes. His parents hadn’t seemed too surprised—did they know about this, and he didn’t?

“Stacy—you totally knew this, dude.”

“The girl from Thanksgiving last year?” Kris asked, furrowing his brows. “Y’all were that serious?”

“Are that serious,” Daniel corrected him. 

“Why isn’t she here then?”

“Dude, she has a bakery to run. And she’s not involved in any of this—she shouldn’t have to have missed work for this.”

“I understand that!” Neil cried, downing the rest of his Scotch in one gulp. “Now speaking of work, this is my turn.” 

Neil had an interesting story. After high school, he attended Fordham University in New York City, double-majoring in photojournalism and architecture. He published a book full of photographs of buildings and descriptions of their construction process—an answer to the question Kris had about what the hell a photojournalism/architecture major does. 

After graduating from college, he has started an online newspaper with his friend, which he said was doing pretty well. Kris couldn’t help but beam as he told his story—he was genuinely happy for Neil to lead such a normal life after such a twisted childhood. 

“And, last but not least, I’m engaged!”

Kris’s eyes almost popped out of his head. All the other stuff seemed realistic. But he just couldn’t imagine Neil Lambert being engaged. 

“We’re planning on getting married in May!” Kris’s mouth went slack as everyone else offered their congratulations. “And before you ask, Kris, she’s not here because she’s on a business trip in Tokyo. Yep—she’s cool as hell.”

Eber’s story wasn’t nearly as grand as his son’s. After splitting up with Leila, he’d moved to San Francisco and bought a beach house. Since he’d made so much money as a computer programmer for thirty years in Arkansas, he retired once he moved. Now he did pretty much nothing.

Leila went last, explaining how she’d moved to Indianapolis after Neil graduated high school ten years ago. She’d chosen that city since she’d grown up there, and her mother lived there. “The sad thing is, I really did aim to visit her a lot. I wanted to, since I knew Mother was getting older. But I didn’t realize how bad her Alzheimer’s had gotten. It was just depressing to go see her—after a while I quit going to the nursing home. She always asked questions about Adam, forgetting that he was gone.”

The air in the room grew tense. Everyone glanced around awkwardly to see if anyone else was going to talk. That was the first time Adam had been mentioned since they’d left the funeral. 

Sure, they’d all alluded to him, but no one had called him by name. They’d been having such a good time—now it felt as if some barrier had been crossed.

It hit Kris that he hadn’t really thought of Adam all afternoon. Dream Adam, anyway. Of course, he’d thought of young Adam during the funeral service. But not once had he thought forward to the Adam he’d see when he went to sleep that night.

He could hardly tamp down on the rising sense of guilt flooding his chest.

The sound of a doorbell ringing cut through the air, breaking them all from the tension that had settled onto the room like a chilled blanket.

The pizza was there—there was no sense in being sad. 

But Kris still felt a gnawing sense of dread weighing heavy in his stomach. The mention of Adam had reminded him of Neil’s promise from earlier—the promise to tell him some gruesome secret about Adam. Despite the heavenly aroma of cheese wafting from the kitchen, Kris lost his appetite.

~*~*~

Kris had only just forced down a few bites when Neil dismissed himself to the bathroom.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Kris said, shooting him a knowing look that was, frighteningly, returned.

Leading Neil toward the bathroom, Kris kept silent. He felt a sinking feeling in his chest—could almost feel his dinner climbing back into his throat. He knew that whatever Neil was going to say, it was going to be bad. And he was terrified. But he couldn’t turn away from it.

Since Adam refused to tell him what happened to him, Kris would get his answers from Neil. 

Vaguely the thought crossed his mind, the idea from earlier: he shouldn’t care about the past, he should just move on. But he decided to blow that thought off. He’d gotten himself so worked up now, he couldn’t turn back.

Once in the back hallway, where Kris was sure no one would hear them, he worked up the courage to ask, “So, are you gonna finish telling me that thing from earlier?” It came out raspy because of his dry throat, but he gave himself credit for speaking at all.

“Oh, yeah. What was I even saying? The guy got arrested, of course—Damian Black. He’s probably gonna get the death penalty.” 

Kris shook his head. That’s not what he cared about. His fingers curled into fists, trembling with unbridled emotion. “No, you didn’t tell me that. What did he do to Adam?”

“Yeah, that was it. So, okay—you know how the guy was a magician. Creepy fuck, right? Anyway—magician. He did the most sickening thing.” Neil shook his head in anger. Kris’s heart dropped—if Neil was getting upset, it was going to be bad. Gruesome. This was bad, and Kris was scared. But it was too late.

“He sawed him in half.”

Kris’s ears started to buzz.

~*~*~

The rest of the night was a blur. 

They finished their dinner, had another round of drinks, and talked for another hour before Eber started implying that it was time to go. He, Leila, and Neil all had hotel reservations in a nearby town, and he didn’t think it wise to get there too late. Small towns were notorious for going to bed early.

After the Lamberts left, Kris found himself on the couch in the living room, unwilling to move. The bomb that Neil had dropped on him had left him utterly crushed. He had to down several shots of vodka to drown out the screaming in his head.

Sawed in half. What the actual fuck? He couldn’t stop thinking about it. The thought had captured his mind and wouldn’t let it go. He imagined it—the noises that must have been in the air. The screaming. The sickening sound of sawing and scraping.

Just when he was about to drift off, lost in the thought of the hellish ordeal, he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He jerked awake, surprised that he’d been about to pass out.

It was his mother. “Kris, sweetie, don’t you think you should go to bed? You won’t feel good if you sleep on the couch tonight.”

Kris didn’t respond in any way—no words, no nodding of his head—other than to ease himself up into a sitting position. His mother was right. He needed to sleep in the privacy of his bedroom. There, he could have the nightmares about Adam being sawed in half. His heart began to pound just thinking of it.

“And you haven’t taken a pill yet—don’t forget to take a pill.”

His head snapped up, confused. Pill? He’d flushed all his pills down the toilet. 

The realization that his mother didn’t know that—it couldn’t get through the trauma-induced haze that was clouding his mind. He looked up at his mother with his brows furrowed.

“You are still taking your sleeping pills, right?”

Something in her tone made him realize that he should agree with her. “Yeah. I’m just drunk.”

“I know, but you still need to take one tonight, babe.” She helped him to his feet. His knees were wobbly, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol running through his system. He felt weakened by the terror overwhelming his system. “You know they won’t work properly if you don’t.”

“Yeah, I know.” He started shuffling out of the living room, but turned back before he exited. He knew the pill issue would be brought up again, and he wanted to cover all his bases. Thinking on his feet, he said, “Oh, crap—I just remembered I forgot my pills at home.”

Kim’s eyebrows raised, giving her son another look of pity. Kris couldn’t help but flush, knowing he was a sight for sore eyes. He’d hardly spoken at dinner, and then he’d gotten incredibly drunk—it seemed that Adam’s funeral had affected him more than he was willing to show her. At least, he knew that’s what his mother was thinking.

“Well, there’s some extra in the medicine cabinet in there. Parker gave me some extra just in case.”

Kris nodded his aching head. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

With that, he hobbled into his bedroom and flopped down onto his bed, yearning for the sweet release of sleep—without the use of his sleeping pills. Reality had been rough today. Being constantly reminded of Adam—learning about what had actually happened to him—it was all too much.

He knew that when he fell asleep, he may see some horrific manifestations of the news he’d heard that day. He knew that nightmares were a real possibility. 

But he also knew that Adam would be there. Nightmares or no nightmares—he would definitely be seeing Adam. 

That’s what made him feel safe falling asleep. He craved sleep over consciousness. He craved Adam over no Adam.

And when he teetered on the edge of the unknown that night, he was quite terrified of what he may see. But the thought of seeing Adam again made him plunge headfirst into the darkness before him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for reading again, you're all so awesome. You make writing and posting so much fun! I really hope you're liking the story so far - some crazy stuff is about to go down, since we're closing in on the ending. Remember, I thrive on feedback :) Thanks again!

Kris was sitting on a sofa. 

One made of white leather—stain-resistant, color choice safe enough to match anything. It was a bachelor’s couch for sure.

Upon second glance, Kris realized that it was actually his couch. Complete with the smell of cologne etched into the cushions’ membrane, the inexplicably deep rut that had formed between the cushion and the left arm, and even the tan-colored throw pillow his mother had bought for him so long ago.

Kris’s eyes flicked up from the couch, surveying the room around him. His room. His living room, in his own apartment back in LA. 

It didn’t make any sense. So vividly, Kris remembered falling asleep at his parents’ house. His childhood bedroom back in Conway, Arkansas. How could he possibly be back in California without knowing it? Unless—

Oh. It came to him quickly, like a camera’s flash, blinding and white, and not too pleasant. He was still asleep. This was merely another dream.

As if on cue, as if waiting for Kris to clue into the fact that bizarre things were about to take place, the television powered on. The screen brightened from black to a lighter black. A high-pitched humming noise sounded from the speakers, like televisions did back in the day.

The screen continued to brighten, blacks fading into some brown and gray shades that were still pretty dark, but somehow lighter than the dead screen had been. The picture was fuzzy but gradually the image grew sharper, allowing him to see the scene more clearly.

It was a room—a dirty room. Cob webs and dust hung in the air like floating spirits, haunting the room with their grunge. Literal dirt was caked thickly on every visible surface in the room—floor, wall, ceiling. No furniture that Kris could see. No windows either—no lights. Kris could practically smell the bacteria festering in the air, the mud growing and overtaking the room. It assaulted his nostrils as if he was actually sitting in the room.

Filthy room. A man walked into the frame—a filthy man. He wasn’t physically dirty—no, he looked to be the most hygienic thing in the room—but Kris could tell. His face was nasty, full of pure malice. A smirk, soulless eyes. Evil intentions. He was filthy. Kris just felt it.

The man started talking to someone off-screen. From what it looked like, it was someone below him. His eyes stared toward the ground, jaw twitching in a foul expression of contempt. The man’s teeth were gritted together, glued, so securely that Kris had trouble distinguishing what he was saying. His intimidation tactic was garbling his speech, dropping it to such a low register that Kris couldn’t pick it up—but Kris had no doubt that whoever the man was talking to could hear it just fine. And that it probably wasn’t very nice, whatever he was saying.

A few moments into the unheard monologue, another sound met Kris’s ears. Immediately his stomach dropped, willing himself to have imagined it. But he knew he didn’t—this was a dream, he had to be right.

The sound of wobbling metal. A thick length of metal rushing through the air—it was confirmed as Kris watched the man wield a large saw from out of nowhere. The jagged blade shimmered somehow in the darkened room, as if it glowed out of anger.

The man glanced at it like it was a newborn baby—so full of promise, so full of hope, right there in his hands. His lips spread into a vicious grin—Kris refused to think the word smile, because the man certainly wasn’t happy, he was just crazy. It wasn’t even hunger, it wasn’t the desire to perform the act—it was complete madness, the sickening curl of his leer.

But he was still aware of what he was doing. The glint in his eye was one borne of cruelty, brutality, savagery—complete monstrousness. The man was a monster—Kris swore he was looking right into the eyes of the boogeyman himself. 

And it wasn’t slurred when he spoke again—this time it was high and clear and perfectly audible, only tinged with a twisted amount of excitement. Kris could hear his ugly grin in his voice, as well as his own heart beating with an adrenaline-pumping combination of hatred and horror. He sunk into the couch, wanting to disappear between the cushions, wanting to become the cushions so he wouldn’t have to watch this. Because he knew what was coming. He hadn’t earlier, but God, he sure knew now.

“Ready for the grand finale?”

No, Kris thought, squeezing his eyes shut. No, I’m not ready and I never will be, and I can’t do this anymore and I never should have asked Neil and I just want this to stop, I can’t do it, I can’t watch it, just make it stop.

The high-pitched noise died abruptly. Kris had quickly gotten used to the annoyance but now that it was gone, he noticed it. He snapped his eyes open, wanting to focus on that, and not on the disturbing scene that was playing out on the television screen.

It didn’t take much effort to distract himself. The second his eyes opened, his stomach dropped through the floor. Adam was there. He was standing by the television, holding the cord in his hand, like he’d just yanked it from the wall. And his arms were crossed, a perfect addition to the flared nostrils and furrowed brow—Adam was pissed.

And Kris was fucked again, for a completely different reason. His insides slithered around his stomach, squirming with duress. It was all too much. But now he had to face it.

“How did you find out?” The words were low and careful to the point that they were painful to hear, and of course Kris gave no response to them. He was at a loss that they were even having this conversation.

“How the fuck did you find out, Kris?” Adam repeated, seemingly full of rage but in a confusing way that led Kris to believe it wasn’t entirely directed at him. It could have been, but Kris just had a feeling. Just analyzing his voice.

It wasn’t until then that Kris realized he wasn’t looking at Adam anymore. Somehow his gaze had dropped down to his lap again, but he raised it so he could at least grant Adam the respect he was due. He deserved eye contact. He deserved a hell of a lot more.

“Uh. . .” Did Kris dare tell him the truth? Were they really going to get into it? Could this be it? One look at Adam, arms folded so tightly across his chest that Kris wasn’t sure how he could breathe, face so hardened that he looked like stone—Kris got his answer. 

“Neil told me. The funeral was today, and I saw him.”

Adam’s face dropped from the icy expression that had been locked in. He looked confused. And more than a little troubled.

“How does Neil know?”

Kris swallowed convulsively, going over the same questions in his head again. But how could he deny Adam answers now? That just wasn’t right.

“He saw your body. They all did.” Adam cocked his head a little to the right, as if to ask a question. Kris understood through the silence. “Your family.”

Adam’s face was set once again, his mouth a taut line of displeasure, a crease between his intensely furrowed eyebrows, his jaw rigid with emotion. A shadow of pain flittered across his eyes, and suddenly his face crumpled completely. 

Kris watched the shift, his eyes widening in horror as Adam dropped to the ground, covering his face with his hands. Sobs shook his body over and over again as he began to weep quite loudly. Quite pitifully.

If Kris had known the conversation would have resulted in such a sorry display, he never would have gotten into it. He never would have wished that they’d have this exchange—he never would have wished that he had all the answers. Because Adam was hurt, and he didn’t like it. Adam was hurt because of Kris. All because Kris couldn’t keep his greedy hands off of what had happened.

He rose from the couch and shuffled over to where Adam was huddled, practically caving in on himself, weeping into his own hands. Kris reached out to rub Adam’s back, offer some sort of reassurance, but of course his hand went right through him. Unable to touch. Adam was just out of reach, as always.

So Kris sat back and watched helplessly as his friend continued to dissolve. The sound of it alone was enough to make tears spring to Kris’s eyes. But he blinked them away—it wasn’t fair for him to cry. It was his fault Adam was crying.

He kept that in mind as a thick knot begin to form in his gut—he deserved it. He felt like the worst person on the face of the Earth.

In the few wordless moments that passed, when Kris couldn’t force himself to say sorry because the word didn’t seem big enough, Kris couldn’t help but put himself in Adam’s shoes. It only made it worse.

He imagined himself as Adam—taken away and stripped of his freedom and denied his life, leaving behind a family that loved him more than anything in the world. Knowing that his family wept for him every single day. Knowing that his death—his family’s knowledge of his death—would be the only consolation in the whole ordeal. At least they knew he was at peace. No matter how much suffering he’d endured, at least they could be happy that he was in a better place now.

But now they all know how he died—they know that it was the most extreme agony imaginable. And now his family still weeps because they worry about how much pain and fear he endured—they worry about how many gallons of blood he spilled and how loud he screamed when it happened. And the illusion was now completely shattered, and it had only taken a few short seconds for it to go down.

That’s why Kris found it hard to say sorry. There was too much, and the word was too small. But he made himself say it anyway. “I’m sorry, Adam,” he choked out, the tiny word being overshadowed by the thunderous sobs coming from Adam. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated himself, finding tears crawling down his face as well. 

“I’m sorry, Adam, I’m sorry.” It was like a mantra—if he said it enough times, it would help him get over the hill. Only now he wasn’t quite sure what the hill was—if it was to make Adam stop crying or to cover his own ass—and he sure as hell didn’t know how steep it would be, or what lay on the other side of it.

But he continued, apologizing and staring at Adam’s hunched form—aching, he was so desperate to reach out and touch him—until he woke up.

~*~*~

He was in his old bedroom at his parents’ house, the room he’d fallen asleep in. Sunlight glared harshly through the window, seemingly targeting the very center of his brain. He didn’t remember the window being such a problem when he was a kid, but then again he had never been quite this hungover back then.

A high-pitched beeping sounded from his phone, which he’d set on the night-stand—his alarm going off, which was probably what had made his dream with Adam feel so short. Despite feeling like he’d only been in dream-land a few minutes, he’d somehow slept through the entire night, as evidenced by the 9:30 blinking on his phone screen.

He groaned, regretting it immediately. The sound reverberated around his head, sending a deep throb racing from the back of his neck to his temples. He felt ill, there was so much pressure in his skull. The waves of pain translated themselves into the language of stomach pain as well, and quickly made their presence known, a roll of nausea coursing through his body.

He wanted to get out of bed and throw up. Or get some aspirin, or drink some water, or fashion some thick curtains so he could enjoy his bedroom in darkened peace. But he couldn’t force himself to move. 

He let the pain pummel his body, and all he thought about was Adam. Adam crying. Because of him. At that realization, Kris found that nausea wasn’t the only thing making his stomach writhe. Guilt gnawed at Kris from the inside out. He wished it would devour him whole, and take its sweet time.

Lying in bed, his mind drifted to Adam, and how catastrophic their conversation had been. It was more like Kris’s blurting and Adam’s reaction than an actual conversation, but it had been disastrous either way. 

He felt a pang in his heart at the thought of seeing Adam again. It would be painful. But it would be better than not seeing him again, that was for sure. 

Maybe he could try to fix it—well, not fix it, per se, since Kris had gone against Adam’s only wish and singlehandedly ruined the one source of happiness upon which he built his current life. But maybe they could talk it out.

Kris felt simultaneously excited and terrified at the prospect. He focused on that, letting the possibilities distract him as the minutes ticked by. Minutes in which he was supposed to be getting ready to leave.

He didn’t find the motivation to get out of bed until he heard a soft knocking on the door. “Kris, son, you need to get up soon, you’ve got a plane to catch in an hour,” his mother had murmured. Even then, it took him ten minutes to get up.

~*~*~

Kris was hesitant about sleeping on the plane. 

He was physically able to do it, he knew. He was still drowsy from that morning, when he’d been ruthlessly yanked out of his slumber by his pesky alarm. It would take fifteen minutes—twenty, tops—and he could be out like a light.

But he questioned whether or not he should. 

He knew he’d have to see Adam eventually. Not sleeping was no longer an option, and he doubted Adam would ever hide from him. He knew that they’d have to face what had happened, sooner or later. But that was a tough choice to make—sooner or later.

If he put it off, he’d have more time to think of what he could possibly say, and it’d give Adam ample time to himself, for gathering his composure and sorting through his feelings, too. Waiting until later that night definitely had its benefits.

Still, Kris felt like it was better for him to do it now. That way he wouldn’t have to overthink what he would try to say, and he wouldn’t psych himself out. Also, he’d been pulled so quickly out of his dream that morning, it made him wonder if Adam had even realized. Kris didn’t want him to think he’d just ruined his life and split. It wasn’t like that, and Kris was antsy to let him know.

So without further thinking, Kris curled in on himself as soon as he’d taken his seat on the plane. It had taken him through the plane’s ascent, but as soon as they were coasting through the clouds, he allowed the sleepiness to take over. 

He stared out the window, his eyelids growing heavy as he watched the clouds float by. Within minutes he felt like he was floating himself, teetering on the very brink of unconsciousness, before he fully took the plunge.

~*~*~

They were in Kris’s living room again. As if Adam had sat there the past few hours, waiting for him to come back. The thought both worried and relieved Kris, but he felt guilty for both emotions.

Adam was no longer in the floor—thank God—he’d moved a few feet from where Kris had left him, and he now occupied the upholstered chair in the corner of the room. Though the chair was big, comfy, and soft, Adam looked anything but comfortable. His back was rigid, his arms folded across his torso like he was trying to hold himself together. Tense emotion had made his tear-stained face appear haggard and worn, like he’d been traumatized all over again.

Kris gulped when he first saw him, questioning his decision to sleep on the plane. He still wasn’t ready for this. But now he didn’t have a choice. 

He made his way over to the couch and sat on the very edge of it so he could be as close to Adam as possible. If he got in the floor, he’d look like he was pleading, begging for forgiveness, and he knew Adam wouldn’t like that, so he had to settle for the sofa.

Leaning forward, Kris propped his elbows up on his knees, and he drew a deep breath to steel himself. After all that thinking from before, he still didn’t know where to start. It didn’t seem to matter, though.

“It’s not your fault.” It was Adam who broke the silence, making Kris’s heart lurch. Kris eyed him, mouth agape. It wasn’t very convincing—Adam wasn’t even looking at him. After a beat, though, Adam added, “Really.”

“How could you say that?” Kris asked, his voice strained to a high pitch.

Adam looked at him, brows furrowed. “Someone told you. You couldn’t help that.”

“So? I’m the one who asked Neil to tell me. I did it—it was my fault.”

“That makes no difference, Kris. You asked me a dozen times and I never told you. Asking about it wasn’t the problem.”

“So you’re not mad at me? You’re mad at Neil, for telling me?”

Adam’s head cocked to the side, that mien of confusion again. “I’m not mad at anyone.”

Kris’s insides twisted, an image from earlier flashing into his head—Adam dropping to the floor, huddling in on himself, and emitting the most pitiful cries he’d ever heard. 

“I’m just. . .devastated, I guess,” Adam clarified with a one-shoulder shrug that was anything but nonchalant. The tiny, tight smile on his mouth made Kris’s heart twinge. “I really didn’t want them to know,” he continued in a sad whisper. “Didn’t want you to know, either, really.”

Adam’s eyes flickered with something Kris interpreted as shame, before he averted his gaze to his lap. And in that moment Kris knew that he could never again ask Adam what happened to him—he could never yearn to know anything else about what took place during those seventeen years he was gone. Kris just knew, and he felt some sort of pain in his chest.

“Can I do anything to make you feel better?” Kris asked, hoping against hope that Adam took the bait. If not, Kris was afraid he’d just start saying “sorry” again, and that he wouldn’t ever stop.

Adam’s head creaked up, his eyes wide on Kris’s face, glassy with some emotion that wasn’t showing itself in the rest of his features. “Tell me about my family.”

Kris’s face twitched. The request had been voiced in such a soft manner, so sweet and innocent, that he was fighting back tears. Adam took his odd facial expression as something else entirely. “You said you saw my brother, Neil. . .” he said slowly, as if he were trying to coax Kris into it.

Kris nodded his head, “Of course, of course,” he said rapidly, his tone brightening. Though his nerves were loosening, he still had to force a smile onto his face, unsure of whether or not it looked sincere. But Adam didn’t seem to mind—he just seemed excited to hear about his loved ones.

So Kris told him everything, talking about his family’s stories and what they’d been up to the past few years. They spoke for what felt like hours—oddly, it felt longer than their interaction had been the night before, but Kris chalked it up to him being in a much deeper sleep cycle now than when he’d fallen asleep drunk.

Finally, Kris could tell a difference in lighting, which always signaled the end was near. Adam glanced around, offering Kris a slightly disappointed expression before smiling broadly once again. It didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Kris was glad that he was still making the effort.

“I just can’t believe Neil’s engaged,” Adam said in wonder, shaking his head. “My little booger-eating, bed-wetting, bug-catching brother. God, I’d pay to attend that wedding.”

They shared a quick laugh, looking into each other’s eyes as they did. There was a tiny spark in Adam’s eyes, as if he were trying to convey to Kris just how badly he’d needed that moment. Kris felt himself welling up for what felt like the millionth time. 

“Thank you for everything, Kris.”

Kris nodded. “You’re welcome, Adam. Anytime. In fact, I’ll be seeing you again in a few hours, when I get home.”

The corner of Adam’s mouth raised into a smile again. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too,” Kris mumbled before it all disappeared.

He woke up just as the plane was landing. He sighed, once again overwhelmed by just how hard it always was to leave Adam behind.

~*~*~

Kris made it home pretty early that evening. 

He had just enough time to unpack his suitcase, order food, and watch half a movie before he found himself getting sleepy again. Something in the back of his mind told him he should be worried about being so tired all the time, but he let that be eaten up by the idea of jet-lag. Even though his trip had only lasted one day, and he’d already taken a long nap that day, jet-lag was definitely the reason for his exhaustion.

Willing himself to stay awake just a little bit longer, he started flipping through the channels on the television, hoping something would be interesting enough to capture his attention. 

He flipped past a news channel with a familiar-looking anchor, but he immediately switched the channel back to it. There was a photograph on the screen of someone that looked familiar. By the banner and the man behind the counter, he could tell it was the same news channel that had announced Adam’s death just a few days ago.

But it wasn’t Adam’s photo on the screen, like it once had been. No, it wasn’t Adam. It was Damian Black. The vile man who’d murdered him.

It was a picture of him in full magician garb—tuxedo, white gloves, top hat—and he was grinning from ear to ear. Just the sight of the monster made Kris’s insides boil, hands twitching with the need to punch right through his disgusting face.

Luckily the news anchor started to speak, distracting him from the photograph and ensuring that he wouldn’t be sending his fist into the television screen within the next few minutes. 

“Tonight we’ve gained details about the punishment of Damian Black. Black was found and taken into custody three days ago, confessing to kidnapping a young boy and holding him prisoner in his basement for over nearly two decades before savagely murdering him. 

“The victim’s loved ones can now rest easy: Black has been sentenced to the death penalty. The date of his execution will be set later this week.”

Kris’s jaw dropped. It was excellent news—the evil psychopath was being sent to the electric chair, just like he deserved.

But heavy sense of dread filled Kris’s stomach, and he didn’t know why.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Here we are with the second to last chapter! Sorry it's been such a long time, it's been really tough to find time to write lately. I can't believe I've made it this far, and I certainly can't believe this story's almost over. It feels like just yesterday I started writing the first chapter. Thank you all so much for continuing to read all this time and being so supportive through it all. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter. It leads up to some crazy stuff that will happen in the grand finale! Hopefully I will be able to post the final chapter of this story sometime this week. Once again, thanks for reading! You all are wonderful.

It took Kris a bit longer than he’d hoped to fall asleep that night. 

He thought that after being sedentary all day, from sleeping in, waking up with a hangover, and going back under on the plane ride, he’d have a good shot at staying drowsy enough to fall asleep right after getting home.

It was only his misfortune that he’d thought to unwind by watching some mind-numbing television show. And it was only his further misfortune that he’d flip it to the nightly news. 

The announcement about Damian Black—really any mention of the bastard at all—was enough to put him on high alert. The photograph of the man was just icing on the poison-filled cake. The image was burned into his mind’s eye, accompanied by the scrolling words from the headline and a few of his own creation, such as, “fucking evil”, “revolting bastard”, and “murderer.”

It was all enough to send a perfect storm running through his gut. The pit of his stomach ached, quivering with anxiety that he couldn’t quite explain. 

It was good news, wasn’t it? The monster was being executed—he would be slaughtered like the animal he was—and he would go straight to hell. It had to be good news. He was getting what he deserved.

But the gnawing in Kris’s gut did not go away. He was spared no relief, even when he moved from the living room couch to his bed, under the covers, in the midst of the comfiest pillows in his apartment. The pain in his stomach would grant him no reprieve, no matter how many times he rolled over and how many positions he tried. Sleep evaded him for what felt like forever, also offering him no relief.

He considered getting up and grabbing a beer, knowing how alcohol makes him sleepy, but the cons to that proposition outweighed the pros. The yanking in his gut was too painful for him to get out of bed, and drinking beer might end up making it worse. Also, the night before, when he’d drank, it had made his time with Adam seem too short—he didn’t want that to happen again.

So Kris lied in bed, arms folded over his torso as if protecting it from external pain, drawn into the fetal position while his anxiety ate away at him, for just over an hour. It was a sweet relief when he finally broke through the wall into unconsciousness, though the tightness in his gut followed him there.

~*~*~

The next time he opened his eyes, he was sitting on Adam’s couch. 

A sharp throb pinched at his chest at the memory of the last time he’d been in Adam’s living room—Adam curled up on the sofa, crying and cursing Kris up the wall for allowing the visions of the monstrous Damian Black to roll through his head. Though it had been a simple miscommunication at the time, it drove home a much bigger point that made Kris’s heart hurt again: any mention of that bastard magician would send Adam spiraling into a breakdown. 

“What’s wrong?”

Already on edge, Kris jumped slightly at the sound of the voice behind him. Of course, it was just Adam, he reminded himself, smoothing out his facial expression. Just Adam, his friend, for whom he had no news to give. Nope, none at all. He hadn’t just learned anything potentially life-altering that he needed to discuss with Adam. If he thought that enough times, maybe he could trick his mind into forgetting.

“Nothing,” he replied, offering Adam a tiny smile of greeting as he flopped down onto the couch cushion furthest from Kris. Kris assumed it was because he could stick his hand right through where Adam’s flesh should be if he got close enough, and it still made Adam uncomfortable. Hell, Kris didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

Adam raised a dubious eyebrow, lips pursing slightly. “I know something is bothering you.”

Kris continued to deny. He had to. Denial was his and Adam’s best friend at this point, keeping them both afloat. Their lifeline, really—as long as Kris kept denying, things wouldn’t fall apart. He knew that this news—the news that he continually resisted as truth within his own head—had the potential to ruin everything. He didn’t know how—but he was somehow very certain of it.

He shook his head, lifting a shoulder in feigned nonchalance. “Really, Adam, there’s nothing wrong.” With a quivering stomach, he hoped Adam would drop the issue soon.

Adam moved slightly closer, still not daring to touch Kris’s cushion, but attempting to close some of the physical distance between them to parallel the other gap between them. Kris couldn’t help but back a few inches away, but Adam didn’t seem to notice. His brow creased in concern, yet his eyes stayed wide, soft and open and encouraging.

“You can talk to me, Kris.” He bit his lip, looking shy for a split second. The expression of such innocence made Kris’s heart break in the same way it always did. “I can tell something is off with you. I can sense something bad. You can just tell me, and I can help you. Or maybe just talking about it will make you feel better.”

Something about the way Adam spoke—such sincere affection, and a genuine yearning to make his friend feel better about whatever was troubling him—made Kris’s hair stand on end. Or maybe it was the words themselves—the gentle pleading, urging him to open up about his distress. It was all so familiar in all the right ways.

That was exactly what Kris had said to Adam a few nights ago—just a few nights?—to try and get him to open up about what happened to him. Kris had asked him, encouraged him, and tried to convince him to talk using all the same sentiments Adam had just used on him. 

Something about the full circle moment bolstered Kris’s guard, and made him more aware of exactly why he couldn’t tell Adam anything—at least for the time being. Just like then, when Adam refused to tell him anything, Kris stood his ground now.

“Adam.”

The tone of his voice, gentle but a firm clip, the wrinkle of his forehead, the tension of his jaw, the pull of his lips, the cloud of pain that shone in his eyes—it all served to properly convey his distress over the situation, and properly convey to Adam that he could definitely not talk about it.

After a moment of intense eye contact, during which Kris attempted to wordlessly pass his thoughts on to Adam, Adam averted his gaze, drawing in a deep breath and nodding his head slowly. He seemed to understand: now is not the time.

The two shared a brooding silence for a few minutes as Adam seemed to come to terms with Kris’s refusal to talk. And Kris came to terms with the fact that Adam deserved to know what was going on—the fact that he understood that some things were just too horrific to talk about, it fully proved why he deserved to know the truth. 

But Kris had to wait. He couldn’t say it now—he wasn’t ready yet. He would know when he was, but until then—

“Do you remember when we played that board game with Neil, and he was so mad that he was losing that he flipped over the board?”

The words were so sudden, so unexpected, that they actually startled Kris into chuckling. The memory rushed back almost immediately—the Lamberts’ basement, sitting in the floor with the game perched on the coffee table, the smell of baking cookies wafting down from the kitchen. He couldn’t have been older than seven, and Adam nine.

Kris smiled at Adam, forgetting about the anxiety gnawing on his stomach and losing himself in nostalgic reminiscing. “Yes! Oh my God, what game was it? Operation?”

Adam smiled so wide his eyes nearly disappeared. “No, it was like, ‘Mouse’ something. Mouse—Mouse-rat?”

The mistake caught Kris off-guard in the best way possible—he snorted several times, which quickly developed into a full-blown giggle-fit. Soon Adam joined in, though he seemed like he didn’t totally understand the reason for their laugh session.

“Mouse-trap!” Kris gasped out between exhales of raspy laughter. His declaration only made the pair crack up even more, and soon the sound of their laughter completely erased all the tension that had been lingering in the air from their earlier conversation.

“Jesus! How could I forget about Mouse-trap? That was one of my favorite games.” Adam shook his head, trying to regain his composure after such a laugh-attack. He swallowed audibly. “How about that time we were watching a movie, and Neil came in with a bag of popcorn?”

Kris cleared his throat, shaking his head in confusion. Nothing about Adam’s description stood out in his mind. “Popcorn?”

Adam’s eyes were sparkling, and he nodded emphatically, as if goading Kris into remembering. “Popcorn… Kernels…”

It took Kris a second, but suddenly his eyes widened as it all came flooding back to him. “Oh yeah!” he cried, before losing himself in laughter again. “He didn’t know you had to cook popcorn, so he just ate the kernels.” He chuckled at the memory, remembering how he and Adam had laughed so hard about it when it had happened, that they’d almost peed their pants. “Didn’t he get sick?”

Adam was clutching his stomach, nearly doubled over, wiping his eyes with one hand. “And when the popcorn came back up, it was popped!”

They lost themselves in the sweet memories and laughter for a long time. They reminisced about their shared childhood, looking back on the fun times they had when everything was softened with a carefree haze. 

They’d done this a few times before, but Kris had always had a problem letting go of the troubling thoughts that accompanied the bright memories. In nights past, Kris viewed their childhood with a sense of impending doom, like the dark conclusion it had once faced was still in front of them. 

But tonight was different. Kris was able to reminisce freely, with no thought of the terror that they had once experienced. Like nothing horrible had ever happened.

It was exactly what he needed. He felt a bit lighter. And although the butterflies in his stomach remained, he knew that they were no excuse for cowardice—he’d have to push through them and trudge on.

Somehow, even though he felt like he’d been dreaming for a long time, he knew that he wouldn’t wake up for a while more. It was like time was standing still.

“I still can’t believe Neil is going to get married. He’s such a little weirdo.” Adam shook his head in disbelief. He glanced at Kris from the corner of his eye, and Kris noticed his smile falter slightly. Like he knew too. But he still kept up the act for just a little longer. “I’d do anything for a chance to see that wedding—you should go and tell me all about it.”

Kris felt his heart ache, and he forced himself to smile and nod his head. For some reason he couldn’t say anything. Adam looked at him and understood. Adam’s face wrinkled wearily, and he ran a hand through his hair in what appeared to be a nervous gesture.

Everything felt surreal for the next few moments. Kris swore he felt the earth wobble underneath him. He didn’t even feel himself moving his lips to talk, but his own voice filled the air, meeting his ears and making him feel deeply unsettled. 

“Damian Black got the death penalty.” His voice was completely hollow, and Kris was fairly certain that someone else was saying the words. “He’s going to be executed—he’s going to be killed—soon.”

Something monumental shifted inside Adam. 

It was made most obvious by the transformation that took place on his face: the “before” and “after” shots of the effect the stark news had on him. Adam’s face, so open yet so fearful just seconds ago, crumpled like an old newspaper with a gruesome headline on the front page. 

Kris could see something snap inside him—as if a switch was turned off, a light was fatally extinguished in Adam. Something dulled behind his eyes, though they remained wide, glassy, and horrified. Kris didn’t see any tears yet but the redness in Adam’s eyes were a telltale sign that they would come soon.

With quivering lips, Adam began to mumble unintelligibly. Kris’s heart skipped a few beats, concerned that his friend was going into some catatonic state to deal with his shock. Adam shook his head, slowly at first, but then frantically as his voice grew louder.

“No, no—he’s not. He can’t. He’s not, he won’t—he can’t. There’s no way. It’s not fair.”

With alarm, Kris noticed Adam’s body start to sway seemingly uncontrollably, his bottom inching closer to the edge of the couch with each movement of his head. “He’s not gonna come—he won’t be here. . .”

Kris gasped in surprised fear as Adam lunged forward off the couch, collapsing onto his knees. If it hurt, Adam didn’t seem to notice, because he just gripped the edge of the coffee table and continued with his haunting litany of what sounded like denial.

“You won’t see him. . . He’s not gonna look for you. He wouldn’t. And he won’t. It’s not gonna happen. . .”

“Adam,” Kris murmured softly, scooching forward on the cushion to be closer to Adam. He didn’t know exactly what kind of reaction he’d expected from his friend, but he knew he’d hoped for one in which he could be somewhat helpful. Maybe they could have talked it out, tried to quell any anxiety Adam had over the situation. 

But Adam was breaking down, muttering nonsense and seemed not to realize Kris’s presence at all. Kris was almost positive he couldn’t remedy Adam’s fear even if he tried. It wasn’t a simple fix by any means—he was in sheer terror.

Now, he felt as if he couldn’t do anything. He’d caused Adam pain by breaking the news, and he could do nothing to help him. He’d never felt like a bigger jackass.

“Adam, please, talk to me. You’re gonna be okay, just breathe.”

Adam clearly wasn’t listening, just kept on repeating the same indecipherable sentiments over and over. He stayed on his knees in the prayer position, as if trying to appeal to some higher power not to let Damian Black be killed. For some reason. Kris still didn’t quite understand.

“This can’t happen. He can’t find me. It’s not fair. It’s not fair—we just started being friends again, and he just started believing in magic, and now I can’t. . . This can’t happen. Please.”

Adam’s voice was getting higher, pleading with an invisible force, begging for all it was worth. His hands were trembling where they clutched the side of the coffee table, though they seemed to be the only steadying connection he had right now. His entire body was quaking, shaking with sobs that came without tears, his breath hitching and ragged between every other word he spoke.

Kris had never seen anyone in such distress. Never seen Adam in such distress, though he had certainly seen him fall apart a few times before. Never this bad, though—Kris wasn’t so sure Adam could be put together the same way again after falling apart this severely.

A bit panicked, Kris raised his voice, trying to get Adam’s attention. If he could just draw him out of whatever state he was in, he could try to help him. “Adam!” he yelled, not caring that his voice was thick with unshed tears. The lump in his throat burned but he pushed on. “Adam, please! Please listen to me, it’s going to be okay!”

Adam didn’t hear him at all. “The magic didn’t work—the trick, and he’s gonna want to do it again, I know he is. But that’s not fair—I’ve worked so hard for this, and I’ve gotta give it all up again because he just takes and takes and takes and he’ll find me if I stay here. How did I not even think of that? And Kris, I’ve gotta give him up too, just like the rest of it—because he won’t leave me alone, and I know he’ll find me even if he knows it’s not fair. . .” 

At the mention of his name, Kris bristled, leaning forward and reaching out to shake Adam out of whatever trance he was in. Forgetting the barrier for a moment, Kris’s heart sank when he saw his hand go right through Adam’s neck. 

“Shit!” he cried as his hand grew cold, and he yanked it back out. The sensation must have been even more bizarre for Adam, for he finally seemed to recognize that Kris was sitting right next to him. He snapped his head to the side to face Kris, his eyes still looking dazed and shiny, the expression behind them hollow.

“Adam?” Kris murmured, inching even closer to him in hopes of finally reaching him. “Adam, please.” Eyes prickling, Kris wiped a hand over his face.

Adam’s eyes narrowed in recognition for just a moment, before he shut them completely and let the tears start rolling. He’d held out during his entire breakdown, so Kris knew the emotions signified him coming out of it. Kris couldn’t help but share his tears too.

When Adam opened his eyes again, they were still leaking tears, but there was an emotion within them—one that said he was sorry, and one that said he wished they could touch right now. Kris’s heart ached. If he could wrap his arms around his friend and hold him, he would.

“I have to leave.”

The words were said through a scratchy throat, voice taut and fragile with emotion, and they spurred on an uneasy feeling in the pit of Kris’s stomach. He was still confused, but he knew that the words meant no good.

“What do you mean? Like, right now? Where? Out of the apartment?”

Adam shook his head slowly, looking miserable but no longer unsure. “Kris. . . Well, yes, out of the apartment.”

Kris’s heart began to race. He still didn’t get it, but it wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all. “What, like you need some fresh air—take a walk or something, to think about all this?”

“Kris.” Adam’s voice was so soft, so sorry, so hurt—practically bleeding from the pain of saying what needed to be said. “I can’t be here anymore. We can’t see each other anymore.”

The entire world rocked on its axis. Kris felt like he was about to break down, his emotions spiraling out of control just like Adam had a few moments earlier. He shook his head, his eyes looking at Adam but not seeing him. There’s no way he could do this, no way, no way, no—

“He’s going to find me if I stay here in your head, Kris.” Adam’s words snapped him out of the panic he was entering, and Kris wrinkled his brow in response to him. “You’ve already dreamed him up before,” Adam explained with a shrug, but Kris could tell there was no nonchalance involved. If Kris’s own fiery nerves were any indication, Adam was about to break again too.

“Both of us know that this whole thing—you dreaming of me, seeing me, hanging out with me—it’s not normal. It’s not something that can be easily explained. I don’t know how any of this is really possible—maybe it’s all in your head, or hell, maybe it’s even magic.” Adam lifted his shoulder, his face twitching in sorrow. “But I do know that he will probably find me here. And that can’t happen.”

Adam took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. “That’s why I have to move on, Kris. I know this isn’t my final destination—not heaven, or whatever else there is—you can see me, so it’s like somehow I’m in the middle somewhere. I can feel that this isn’t where I need to be. But I have to move on—it’s time.”

Kris’s heart broke—shattered—within his chest. But he nodded, closing his eyes and sighing very deeply. He understood. Completely. Sadly, too—but he understood nonetheless. 

Nothing was said for a few moments. Adam broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have to do it.” Kris felt empty inside.

Neither of them spoke for a while, both looking at each other with no words to say. Kris knew it was probably their last few moments together. Each moment that ticked away sounded like a death knell on their friendship. He was losing Adam. Again. 

Before Adam came into his dreams, Kris had a fairly satisfactory life. He wasn’t overtly happy, but he was all right. Okay at best, bored at the worst. When he started seeing Adam, his life flipped upside down. He was always miserable—tired, annoyed, and frustrated—at the prospect of living in the waking world. Nothing was good enough because Adam wasn’t there. Something about seeing Adam really shook him up, inside and out.

Kris refrained from asking himself if he’d be better off without Adam anymore. If he never dreamt of Adam again, would his life improve? He already knew the answer.

The answer lingered in his mind as the world began to fade around him, signaling the end of his dream. The answer lingered in his mind as Adam looked at him sadly, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, and whispered a cracked, “Goodbye, Kris.” The answer lingered in his mind as he woke up in his bed, chest throbbing, out of breath, and tears soaking his face.

Because the answer was no: Kris’s life would not be better off without Adam. 

His mind drifted to the bottle of sleeping pills his mother had sent home with him, and he immediately knew what he needed to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHH! Ladies and gentleman, I am excited to present the final chapter! Let me just offer a quick apology because I know I said I'd post this like three weeks ago, and I know it sucks that I'm so late. So, I'm sorry! But it's because when I started writing this chapter, it ended up being literally 3x as long as I intended it to be, and it took me a long time to write. So, yes--it's the longest chapter out of the whole story. I hope you guys enjoy it, and I really hope you guys are satisfied with the ending. Thank you so much, for those who have continued reading all this time; it means so much to me, and I'm so grateful for you and all your encouragement! This has been a great journey, writing this, and I'm so happy with what I've done here. Thanks a million. Now go read!

There were eleven pills in the bottle. 

It was an old bottle, kept in the Allen house since before Kris had gone away to college, and kept for emergencies in case he’d forgotten to pack his own medication when he was going home for a visit. Which is exactly what had happened the day before. How convenient for him.

Eleven pills. Surely that would be enough for him.

With no hesitation, Kris shook the contents of the bottle into his open palm. Such small capsules, rolling around in his hand. So tiny, yet they were potent enough to properly keep his dreams away for twenty years. They’d been his lifeline for so long, keeping him normal, keeping him alive all this time. How ironic.

Acting before he could convince himself to do otherwise, Kris lifted his hand to his mouth, letting three or four of the tablets slide onto his tongue. With his free hand, he took a long swig of water from the glass he’d poured earlier. He swallowed, and the first few pills went down without trouble, though there was a slight stirring deep in his gut.

He knew he couldn’t sustain that pace, though. The next time, he deposited only two pills into his mouth, and gulped them down like candy. 

Already his head started to spin. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, in a way. He had no clue how much time had passed since he’d taken the first pill. It seemed as if all his senses were distorted. He didn’t know how many pills he’d taken, and he couldn’t focus on the amount in his hand to count them.

Still, he swallowed down more. And more. One at a time now.

At some point Kris felt like he was going to puke. The nausea that had been boiling in his stomach reared its ugly head and actually made it all the way up to the back of his throat before Kris tamped down on it, drinking more water and willing it away. 

If he got rid of it all now, everything would be ruined.

His throat burned like acid, his stomach continued to churn, and his head felt too heavy for his body, but he continued to swallow pills. He moved mechanically, robotically—with no control over his motions, even though he still had enough brain power to know that this was what he wanted.

Next, his legs gave out, and he fell back onto the bed, though he could hardly tell that’s what it was. The normally-soft material of his bedsheets and pillow-cases now felt scratchy and stifling against his skin. He couldn’t concentrate to see anything around him—his vision was irreparably blurred, a distorted illusion.

Slowly, with limbs made of rubber—feeling like someone else was moving him, molding his body—Kris curled into the fetal position. The pain in his stomach was still there but it was in the back of his mind. His head still spun even though he was lying down. 

His vision was going black—his body growing lighter—and he could tell that he was losing consciousness. Only this time was different from usual, very different from falling asleep—because Kris could have sworn that he hadn’t closed his eyes this time.

~*~*~

Kris came to on Adam’s sofa, just like he had in his most recent dream. It made perfect sense that his subconscious would land him there again, since he’d only just awoken from that dream a few minutes ago. 

Even if Kris himself could barely force himself to believe it—Just a few minutes? That felt like a lifetime ago. . .

Though he was back in the same location, not everything was the same. For starters, Adam was nowhere to be found, at least in the living room, and from what Kris could see through the open kitchen door. 

Any panic Kris might have felt at that realization was immediately quelled when he heard shuffling across the living room—behind the bedroom door. Adam had to be in there. Kris even heard him clear his throat and sniffle.

That made Kris realize what else was different about this particular “dream” he was having: all his senses were heightened. His hearing was improved, his vision was sharper, and he was able to feel more of what he was touching. Nothing was hazy or foggy, as it usually seemed when he was asleep dreaming. 

Everything seemed so much more real than before.

And there was only one explanation for it: Kris was no longer tethered to the last vestiges of consciousness that gave his dreams that slightly surreal quality that they always had. Kris had to be dead.

He’d killed himself. To be with Adam.

Realizing his success, Kris jumped off the couch and rushed to Adam’s bedroom door. Each footfall seemed to echo in his ears, seemed to reverberate within his chest to replace the heartbeat that was no longer there anymore. He crossed the room in no time, reached for the doorknob, and swung the door open to greet his friend.

Adam looked petrified.

He sat on his bed, facing the door, eyes glimmering red—and upon Kris’s entrance, his jaw dropped, his nostrils flared, and his teary eyes widened. There was no mistaking that Adam did not look happy to see Kris. At all.

But Kris ignored his expression, passing it off as surprise, and darted toward Adam on excited feet. He couldn’t wait to show his friend what he’d done for him, how they could be together forever now.

Kris grinned giddily and stepped toward Adam, arms outstretched. He’d be able to touch Adam now, since he was dead. 

Kris would be able to touch Adam for the first time in twenty years—feel the warmth of his skin. A shoulder that he’d brushed up against in the pool on many occasions, an arm that he’d slapped when playing tag, a hand that he’d reached for when running away from imaginary dragons.

“Adam, look!” Kris cried. Adam’s eyes followed his hand, looking on in horror.

Kris grasped for him, inched toward him, until his fingers reached the top of Adam’s shoulder. For a split second, Kris felt something as cold as ice grace his fingertips. 

His entire hand quickly slid through Adam’s arm. What should have been flesh—Kris’s hand went right through it, feeling nothing.

Adam jerked away instantly, disgust twisting his mouth into a grimace as he rose to his feet and backed away from the bed. 

“What the fuck, Kris!” Kris stood in place, utterly dumbfounded. Adam ran shaky hands through his hair, visibly frustrated. “What the fuck! Why did you—how did you—? What are you doing here!” 

Kris shook his head, not understanding anything. Why was Adam upset? And how could he still not touch him? It didn’t make sense. He was dead, wasn’t he? What was wrong?

“You only left a few minutes ago—you woke up Kris, how are you back again?” Adam took a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face. Seemingly to wipe away the few tears that still remained from the last time Kris had been there. “And why’d you try to touch me? You know I don’t like that.”

“I—I just wanted to hug you, Adam, that’s all I wanted—I just wanted to feel you again.”

Adam’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Kris, you know you can’t do that though. What made you think you could touch me? Why did you—?” Adam cut himself off midsentence, eyes growing even wider, eyebrows raising with the horrific realization. 

“No, Kris—you didn’t.” Adam shook his head slowly, his facial expression equal parts sadness and trepidation. “You didn’t. You wouldn’t—Kris, God.” 

Adam and Kris shared eye contact in which Kris tried to confirm Adam’s suspicions, but Adam shook his head again in denial. “Tell me you didn’t try to kill yourself.”

Kris tilted his head to the side, a rueful smile plaguing his mouth. “I did.” Adam looked horrified. “And Adam—I did. I really did it.”

“No, you didn’t,” Adam said, immediately responding in denial. “You would have been able to touch me.”

“Okay. . .”

“Plus.” Adam swallowed convulsively, a flicker in his eye that made him seem desperate to prove Kris wrong. “Your scar—I can still see your scar.”

Wrinkling his eyebrows, Kris glanced down toward his arm. Adam was right—his scar was still there. ‘Help Me’, which Adam himself had written on Kris’s forearm with a sharp blade, shown up at him through his shiny, pink, overgrown flesh.

“Do your scars go away when you’re dead?”

Adam glanced down at himself, pointedly raising his eyebrows at Kris, as if to say, “Duh, you dumbass—if you still had scars when you’re dead, my top half would be disconnected from my bottom half!”

Kris got the silent message, nodding curtly and letting out a brief, “Hm.”

“So, I think it’s safe to say you’re not dead, Kris. Hate to break it to you.”

“Yeah, but this place—it just feels realer now than it did before. It feels like I’m staying here now, instead of just visiting.”

Adam eyed him suspiciously. “Well, maybe you’re only half-dead or something. In a coma.”

Kris shrugged. “Could be, I guess.” 

When he dreamt of Adam all those times, he’d always wondered how Adam could joke about death with such nonchalance. Kris assumed it was a touchy subject, and Adam’s blasé attitude about it was always so jarring. 

But now that he was experiencing death himself, Kris found it fairly easy to talk about. It wasn’t taboo for them to discuss it after all. Kris felt so comfortable with the conversation, he sat down on the edge of the bed to relax more.

“So what’d you do?” Adam asked, ambling over and joining him on the corner of the bed.

“Took pills. Half a bottle of sleeping pills.”

“Oh,” Adam said. “That’s ironic.”

Kris chuckled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Adam’s eyebrows knitted together, a look of pain dashing across his face. “Why’d you do it?”

Kris pursed his lips, wriggling slightly and ruffling the bedspread. The soft, cool bedspread. “I wanted to be with you. I couldn’t lose you again.”

Adam just nodded, staying silent.

“We can be together now.” Kris was a little troubled by Adam’s morose expression, but he chose to stay optimistic. “Together forever—we can live together, and sing together, and have fun together all the time. It’ll be amazing.”

Adam’s frown continued to grow deeper with each one of Kris’s cheerful sentiments. “Oh, am I supposed to be happy about this?”

Adam’s sour tone deflated Kris’s good mood a little bit. “Well—” Kris’s voice cracked, sounding unsure of himself. “Well, yeah—it’s just what you wanted.”

“Kris, this is not what I wanted.”

Kris’s jaw dropped, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. Surely Adam didn’t mean what he was saying. “Just the other day you said you couldn’t wait to be together, so we could spend all this time together. You said it’d be fun.”

“I didn’t want you to kill yourself, dipshit.” Adam sighed deeply. “You know how much that hurts me? No, actually—how much it offends me?”

Kris shook his head, at a loss. He opened his mouth to apologize, but he stopped himself, knowing he would just be sputtering nonsense. What was Adam talking about?

“Kris, I had my life taken from me. You only know the tiniest bit about how painful that was for me. And I didn’t have any choice.” Adam swallowed audibly, and Kris found himself hoping that Adam wasn’t about to cry. He didn’t know if he could handle the guilt. 

“I know I said that I wanted to die later on, when I was hurting so much—but not in the beginning. I was ten years old when Damian stole my life from me. Ten. I would have given anything to have my life again—hell, I would’ve given anything just to see my friends and family again, to say one last goodbye before my life was over.”

Adam raised his eyes to meet Kris’s, and Kris could see no emotion but anger glaring back at him. “So yeah—when you willingly end your life, not even bothering to say goodbye to your loved ones—not even taking a few minutes to reconsider it. . . 

“Yeah, that offends me. It’s kind of a huge slap in the face, actually. And it really, really pisses me off. Very much.”

Kris had never felt so small. So pathetic—so terrible. “I’m so sorry, Adam. Oh my fucking God, I never even thought of any of that. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“I know,” Adam said softly, dropping his fiery gaze down to his lap. “I know you are—I just need you to know that this is not what I wanted. This is not how I wanted to spend time with you.” He sighed again, raising his eyes to meet Kris’s, a conflict of emotions showing clear in his eyes. “I just don’t know how I can like, move past it—overlook it.”

Kris’s mouth was warped into a grimace, his heart aching at the insinuation behind Adam’s words. “Really?”

“Well, this is a pretty big deal, Kris, wouldn’t you say?” Adam raised his shoulders. “I feel like I should try to wake you up somehow, so you don’t really die.”

An indignant sound escaped from the back of Kris’s throat. “Adam, what? No! You can’t do that!”

“Kris, it’s the only way to reverse what you did—and how I feel about what you did. It’s the only way.”

“Surely it’s not, Adam—surely there’s something else I can do to make it up to you.” Kris’s tone grew increasingly desperate. “I don’t want to lose you again, Adam—please don’t make me leave you.”

“Kris!” Adam snapped. “Stop.” His firm insistence in the matter made Kris shut up and avert his eyes, lost in his worried thoughts of what would happen if Adam really went through with waking him up.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Adam’s soft question drew Kris out of his troubled mind, and he immediately cocked his head up to look Adam in the eyes. A twinge of pain ran through his gut when Kris realized he didn’t actually know the answer to the question.

With a defeated sigh, Kris spoke. “Can we just wait a few minutes then? I’m not ready yet. We don’t have to do it right now—we can just sit and talk for a while. Please?”

Adam offered him a tiny, sad smile and nodded his head. “Yeah.”

“Adam, I know this is a tired question, but why do you have to go? I mean, I get why—but why now? Why couldn’t you wait until the bastard was really dead, or at least a few days before? He won’t be executed for at the very least a few weeks—so why do you have to leave me now?”

Brow wrinkling, Adam opened his mouth to speak, the hesitation in his voice clear. As if he knew he was about to give an answer that only he could truly understand. “When you told me the news, it was kind of a wake-up call for me. I realized that he could die at any minute and follow me here and I wouldn’t know about it. 

“I get that you’re kind of the messenger and all, but it wouldn’t be enough. If you heard the news that he died, it’d take you hours to fall asleep and tell me about it. That just wouldn’t be enough time.” Adam shrugged, trying to add a little levity to the tense situation. 

“Plus, I told you before, I know this isn’t where I should be anymore. I mean, I can see you—obviously when you were still fully alive. And I mean, I still had nightmares and stuff. 

“I just feel like it’s time to move on.”

“But how do you know there’s anything to move on to?” Adam looked at Kris with a quizzical expression, so Kris amended his question. “I mean, you’ve been here for three years now, haven’t you? So how do you know there’s something even beyond this?”

Adam’s lips spread into a tight smile that Kris swore was laced with some sort of pity. “Well, how do you know that I’m here with you right now? How do you know that you’ve been dreaming of me—dreaming of your real childhood friend, Adam Lambert, all these nights?” 

Kris blinked hard, stunned and confused. Adam’s eyebrows furrowed slightly—more pity.

“You choose to believe. You choose to believe in magic.”

“Magic?” Kris asked, his voice raising in anger just a bit. “That’s bullshit, Adam!” 

Why would Adam bring up magic, of all things? After everything Adam went through, it seemed as if he should be scared even saying the word “magic.” It made no sense at all. Especially not applied to their situation.

Adam chuckled lightly. “Really, Kris? You’d never thought about it before? I mean, in the beginning, you were so hesitant to believe me, and I thought that was why.” Adam shrugged. “I was kidnapped by a magician when I was ten. He used magic to do it. And he practiced magic tricks on me every day until he killed me. I told you that, and you believed me.”

Kris just shook his head, completely at a loss for words. What was Adam getting at?

“I showed up in your dreams—magically,” Adam continued.

“No.”

“No? You don’t think it’s magic that you can see and interact with your dead childhood friend when your dreaming?”

“No—it makes no sense!”

“None of this makes any sense!” Adam insisted, raising his arms to indicate the whole situation and barking out a brief laugh. “How could you claim that any of this makes any sense to you? I just randomly saw you one night, out of the blue, and then we started hanging out. Some nights I see you and you don’t see me. Some nights you’re here for hours, some nights you’re here for just a few minutes.

“There are no rules—there is no logic to it. None of it makes any sense at all.”

Gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his jaw, Kris sat in tense silence, trying to comprehend all that Adam was telling him. “But magic’s not real.”

“Who says that?”

“I do!” Kris cried, indignant that he was having to argue this point with him. 

“Why do you think that when we’re in this situation? How could you still think that?”

“I just do,” Kris said firmly, knowing in his gut that he was right. 

There was a semi-logical explanation for everything that they had been through. Kris had started dreaming of Adam because he went off his sleeping meds. All the holes in Adam’s childhood story, Adam had explained with magic simply because he’d been a child who believed in magic, and who believed his kidnapper could truly perform magic. 

That’s all any of this was. Why was Adam trying so hard to convince Kris otherwise?

“Then why do you think I’m real? You were about to throw your whole life away just to spend time with me, so you’ve got to think that I’m real, right? How could you possibly think that if you don’t believe in magic?”

“Because you told me where to find your body! You helped me to find you! If you weren’t really here, how would your body have gotten found? You’re the one that did it.”

A smile spread across Adam’s face again, and Kris didn’t like it. Not at all. “Is that so? Or is that what you just choose to believe?”

Kris’s mouth went slack, his eyebrows wrinkling in frustration. He swung his hands as he spoke, too caught up in his emotions to control himself. “What are you talking about? Of course that’s what happened! I didn’t know where to find—”

Kris had gotten a little carried away talking with his hands. One of his hands had accidentally hit Adam—well, went through the part of his arm where he should feel flesh. At the unexpected “contact” Adam gave a small yelp of surprise and jerked away from Kris, rising to his feet.

“Shit,” Adam mumbled, eyes growing wide. “Damnit, Kris, get up.”

“What?” Kris asked, standing. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Did you not feel it?” Adam asked, eyes narrowing. 

“No—feel what? What was it?”

“When you normally try to touch me, your hand feels cold—but this time it was warm.” Kris stared at Adam for a moment, completely dumbstruck. “I think your body’s shutting down. I think you’re really dying now.”

“Oh,” Kris said. Disappointment filled him to the brim. Adam was going to wake him up now and their last conversation will have been about whether or not magic is real. Fantastic.

“Okay, Kris, we need to act fast—like right now.” Adam’s eyes looked wild, and his voice actually carried a tremulous note to it. He was scared. 

“Yeah.” Kris swallowed convulsively.

“I’m sorry we don’t have time for a proper goodbye, so I’m going to say this stuff, and you just trust that I mean it as sincerely as humanly possible, okay?” Hurriedly, Adam moved around the room, opening up a pair of French doors that had been hidden before by a giant chest-of-drawers. He spoke as quickly as he moved. 

“You’re the best friend I ever had in my whole life, it’s been amazing to see you again these past couple days, I’m going to miss you more now than I ever did in those seventeen years without you, I really hope you choose to believe in magic, and—” Adam stopped moving at this point and looked directly into Kris’s eyes. 

“—and I love you very, very much.”

Kris bit his lip and nodded, trying to ignore the tears springing to his eyes. “Right back at you, Adam.”

“And I know that you don’t particularly like your real life right now, and it’s been nice hanging out with you these past few nights, so if you decide to do this again. . . In what I consider the correct way—if you really think about what you’re doing, and you say goodbye to your loved ones, and just do it right, for God’s sake. . . 

“Or if you don’t. . .” Adam took a deep shuddery breath and shrugged his shoulders. “Either way, I’ll see you later. Either soon-later or later-later. But I will see you.”

Kris nodded again, speechless, and tried to steel himself for whatever Adam was going to do to him. The first time they’d interacted like this he’d carved into his arm with a knife, so there was no telling what Adam would do to wake him up from the dead.

“Now, Kris, stand right here,” Adam said, pointing to the spot where he stood, in front of the open double doors. Outside was a balcony, on which bright rays of sun were peacefully dancing. “And close your eyes.”

Kris did as he was told, though he was scared out of his wits. After all that they’d just discussed, he had no clue why he trusted Adam like this. But it didn’t seem to matter.

“And slowly—very slowly—walk backwards. Walk until I tell you to stop.” Kris took a step back. “That’s it—one step at a time. You got it. Just trust me.”

For whatever reason, Kris did as he was told. It wasn’t trusting Adam. It wasn’t magic, and it wasn’t logic—it was somewhere in between. 

Kris kept walking for what felt like forever. Another step, another step—until finally, he felt something stiff press against the small of his back, for just a moment. Then he felt himself tip over backwards, his feet leaving the ground, his body leaving the earth.

Wind rushed at him from all angles, mostly from up underneath him, and Kris swore he was flying. He opened his eyes to check out what the sensation was—and he saw Adam’s face peering over the railing of the balcony about one-hundred feet above him. 

Kris had fallen over the edge of the balcony and was hurtling toward the ground. He gave Adam one last smile and closed his eyes again, trying to brace himself for the landing.

~*~*~

His body tensed as he neared the ground, as if something inside him sensed how close it was and tried to prepare him for impact. He felt his body hit a flat surface, but it wasn’t hard. And there was no pain. 

Once this fact caught up with him—the knowledge the he had reached the ground—his body gave a sudden jerk, his eyes flying open as if to come face to face with the pain he’d feel. Surely his back was broken from the collision, surely he’d shattered a few bones.

But when his eyes opened, his limbs flailing uselessly around him, he was in his own bed again. His soft bed—safe. No pain, no broken spine. No real fall.

Adam had led him off the edge of the balcony to startle his body awake. Somehow it had worked. It had jump-started his heart again. Somehow, Kris was very much alive again.

But the wave of nausea in his stomach was likely to kill him next. He felt it roll all the way up from deep in his gut, travel upwards from his stomach, burn his chest, and reach a crescendo in his throat. Kris rolled over toward the side of the bed just in time to vomit on the floor.

He didn’t stop for several minutes straight—the waves just kept cresting, crashing down and taking him over completely. His body was purging itself of every last remnant of his suicide attempt—cleaning out his insides with retch after miserable retch.

The agony in his head was all-consuming—his throat stung from the taste of bile, his nose burned from the stench and the acidic waste splashing off the floor and into his face, his temples throbbed mercilessly, and his eyes were brimming with tears of pain, regret, sorrow, and any other emotion that someone in his situation could feel.

The torturous heave-session ended abruptly, leaving Kris shaky and dizzy. His head felt like it was no longer screwed on correctly. Feeling like he’d been turned completely inside out, Kris willed his weak body to turn over in bed and lavish in the comforting mound of pillows beneath his aching head.

With a trembling hand, Kris grabbed the glass of water he’d left on the night-stand and raised his head enough to take a few sips to soothe his raw throat and ragged nerves. 

He hoped it would help him regain some composure—his heart felt like a hammer beating in his chest, the thunderous rhythm pounding in his ears with each breath he took. He tried to think of something—Adam, or anything—to calm his hyperactive heartbeat, but his mind wouldn’t focus. He couldn’t keep anything in his head long enough to actually have a full thought.

For a while he simply lied there, breathing heavily and trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was truly breathing at all. His mind was racing, going one-hundred miles a minute to process the overload of information he’d just consumed in the past few minutes.

A sudden thudding noise hastily interrupted the high-speed chase his brain had entered. Thud, thud, thud—it kept repeating itself. Thud, thud, thud. It almost seemed to get louder each time it came. 

Terrified, Kris was half-convinced it was his own heartbeat, pounding on the inside of his chest as a plea to be let out. He flinched with every thud that rang through the air. 

It continued several times until Kris realized where it was coming from, and something connected in his mind. He knew what it was: someone was knocking on his apartment door.

~*~*~

Kris moved on legs made of gelatin, quaking and buckling underneath the weight of his body, even though he knew he must have deposited at least half of his body weight in the floor by the bed. 

With a firm grip on the furniture and walls around him, he guided himself to the front door as best he could. He didn’t know exactly what was drawing him to the door—he knew for certain it was Ashley. She had already called his name several times, and from the frustrated tone of her voice, it didn’t sound like Ashley would be very pleasurable to talk to at the moment.

But something inside his head yearned to do anything to make the pounding—not only the pounding, but the worried emotion behind Ashley’s pounding—stop, and he knew this was the only way to do it.

“Kris!” Ashley yelled, and from the loudness and shrillness of her voice, it sounded like her mouth was pressed right up against the door. “I know you’re in there, I saw your car in the parking lot!”

“I’m here.” Kris’s voice cracked—it was absolutely ragged, and it felt like he’d rubbed it raw. Clearing his throat with a wince, he tried again. “I’m here, Ashley,” he said louder this time, leaning against the wall beside the door for support.

“Kris, thank God! I knew you were supposed to have gotten back in town last night, but you didn’t show up to work this morning, and after the way you’d left the other day—I just got so worried about you.”

Her mention of his failure to show up at work drew his attention, and quickly he turned his head to the side to see the clock near the television. It was well after noon. He sure had wasted a lot of time committing suicide that morning.

“I just—I just didn’t know what was wrong with you, and I didn’t know if you were mad at me, and I was concerned about how it went at the funeral and everything. I was just so scared, and I didn’t know if you were okay.”

“I’m okay,” Kris responded automatically. He was barely alive, but he was okay.

“Well, can I come in? Can I see you? It’s been so long, and I miss you—I was just so worried.”

“Yeah,” Kris answered, and before he could think to stop himself, he swung open the door. 

Ashley was standing out in the hallway, arms full of small boxes and what looked like envelopes. She was smiling when he opened the door, eyebrows raised in concern, but when her eyes fell on Kris’s face, her smile immediately disappeared. Her jaw went slack, and her eyes widened in fear. 

“Kris, holy shit,” she breathed, looking him up and down with horror in her eyes. “You look like hell.”

Kris barked out a bitter laugh. If she only knew. “Well, thanks.”

He extended his arm to brace himself against the doorway, barely able to support himself without hanging on to something. Her eyes fell upon his arm and froze, speechless. Kris followed her gaze and he mentally cursed himself for his foolishness.

Swiftly he dropped his arm and backed away from the door, his hands groping for the next piece of furniture behind him to steady himself. She followed him into the apartment and shut the door, her mouth still agape.

“Your arm, Kris—what’s wrong with your arm?”

“It’s nothing, Ashley—I told you before.”

“It said, ‘Help Me,’ Kris! I’m not blind!”

Kris glared at her, furious. Couldn’t she just drop it? She’d tried to bring it up the other day and that didn’t bode too well for their friendship. Couldn’t she just leave it alone? 

“It’s nothing, Ashley,” Kris said through gritted teeth.

“Did you do that to yourself, Kris? Please, just talk to me. I want to help you.”

“I—no, I didn’t. It’s old, okay? It’s just a scar.” 

Though Kris was planning on lying throughout this whole conversation, there was one truth: at this point in time, almost a week after his arm was first cut, the mark was now just a scar. No longer an open wound or a half-healed scab. He’d left it alone long enough for it to heal. It was an angry red scar, but a scar nonetheless. 

“But, it was bleeding the other day. I accidentally touched it and it started bleeding—and it’s so red.”

“I burned it on the stove the other day and it got really irritated.” Kris shrugged. “That’s why it was bleeding.”

“Okay.” Ashley nodded slowly, seeming to accept his story. “But originally—did you do it to yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk to you about it, Ashley.”

“Okay, fine, I get it. Just promise me it’s old.”

“I promise,” Kris whispered, feeling drained from the conversation.

They stared at each other for a minute, standing in silence. Kris fidgeted, his legs tingling from being so weak but standing so long.

“I brought you your mail.” Ashley extended her armful of packages to show him. “I told the guy at the front desk I was coming to see you and he told me to bring it up to you. It’s a few days’ worth.”

“Thanks,” Kris mumbled. He raised his hand to gesture toward the kitchen. “You can just set it on the table.”

As soon as her hands were free, Ashley looked at him with that same hopeful, expectant expression he’d seen earlier. “Can we just hug it out? I feel like we just need to hug and get over everything.”

Barely even waiting for Kris to nod, Ashley crossed the room and threw her arms around him, squeezing him so hard he actually felt a little faint. 

“God, Kris, you’re trembling,” Ashley murmured, keeping her hands braced on his shoulders. 

“Am I?”

“Shit, and your breath smells like barf. What’s wrong with you?”

Kris wrested his body out of her arms and shakily maneuvered himself to the sofa to sit down. If he stood up for a minute more he felt like he might pass out. Ashley would have a field day with that. 

“God, Ashley, maybe I’m sick,” Kris said, keeping the condescension thick in his voice. He had to give her a hard time. “What a novel idea.” Kris could hardly keep the smirk off his lips as he was struck with a brilliant idea for a lie. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t come into work today, huh?”

Quickly, Ashley joined him on the couch, concern widening her eyes once again. “Oh man, Kris, I’m sorry—that really sucks.”

Kris shrugged. “Probably just a bug from Arkansas. Shook a lot of hands at the funeral—any of them could’ve given it to me.”

“Yeah, could be.” Ashley pursed her lips. “But I feel like you’ve been pretty sick all week. You just seem like you haven’t been feeling great this week—you were falling asleep at work, you weren’t eating—it seems as if you’ve lost a lot of weight, too. That’s part of why I was so worried—I thought something was seriously wrong with you.”

“Well, Jesus, I guess it’s just been kind of a hard week and all. . .” Kris rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Is it because of that?” Ashley asked and pointed to the television. Kris hadn’t even realized the TV was on. But he followed her eyes to see the news was on. And as usual, they were talking about Adam’s case—their new favorite subject since his body had been found.

“Because of Adam?” Kris questioned.

“Well, yeah—I mean, you know that he’s dead now. Before, you kind of had hope that you might see him again, and now—well, you don’t.”

Something in Kris’s chest tightened as he took in her words. He’d heard them all before, but now—now that Adam was gone from his dreams as well as the real world—they took on a whole new meaning.

“I mean. . .”

“Or was it the funeral? I bet that couldn’t have been easy, being there with your family. Seeing his family—being back in your hometown like you were a kid again. Seeing everybody so upset and everything. Funerals are rough.”

Kris nodded slowly, a lump forming in his throat. It had been rough, seeing Adam’s family again. Being around the Lamberts, eating dinner with them like they used to twenty years ago—only, without Adam. It was tough being around Adam’s family, a family that now seemed incomplete.

“Yeah, maybe. . .”

“Ooh, but what about that? I bet that’s enough to leave a sour taste in your mouth—that bastard’s only getting one execution. He should be sent to the electric chair twenty times for what he did—hurting an innocent child!”

Kris’s eyes widened on the picture of Damian Black the news channel was showing on the screen. The photograph they always showed, like they didn’t have any others to show. The ever-elusive, fat, mustachioed monster wearing gloves and a top-hat. 

Kris had seen the picture a thousand times before, but something about seeing it this time opened up the floodgate within him. Images of Adam ran through his mind—visions of Adam being taken, tortured, and ripped apart by this evil man, images of Adam screaming at nightmares that still haunted him, pictures of Adam crying and shaking at the mere mention of his name. 

It was all too much—so much that Adam couldn’t bear to be Adam anymore. Adam couldn’t even stay in the place he called home anymore—he’d have to run away to feel safe. Run away from Damian, run away from Kris—run away from Kris’s dreams. It was all too much.

His emotions burst like a dam within him, and they immediately began pouring out. Letting out a loud sob, Kris began crying uncontrollably, and collapsed sideways into Ashley’s outstretched arms.

“Oh God, Kris, I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” Ashley murmured, rubbing his back gently, trying to soothe him. “It’s okay, just let it all out. I’m here—it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Kris assumed it was because his mind was still numb, his emotions still running wild from the remnants of the excess medication running through his blood—but he unleased more tears than he ever could have imagined were in his body.

He cried for a solid ten minutes—no particular thought floating through his head other than “Adam” and “life” and the overwhelming conflict between the two entities. Sorrow squeezed at his heart and wrung it nearly dry—he expelled every bit of sadness that he knew he had.

By the end of his breakdown, he was wrapped in Ashley’s arms, being rocked back and forth. He knew he was a mess—Ashley’s shirt was soaked with tears and snot and God knew what else. But she didn’t seem to mind—she still held him tight, her affection a wordless comfort.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to her. Or so close to anyone, for that matter. The thought almost made him start crying again, but he swallowed down the urge. 

Raising his head from her shoulder, he wiped his face with his hand and backed off a little. He took a deep breath to steady himself. Ashley was staring at him, searching his face for whatever emotion he’d just let loose, but he was not embarrassed. 

They were friends. She wouldn’t tease him for crying—she comforted him when he’d needed it. That’s what friends do. 

“Do you feel better now?” Ashley asked softly.

Kris nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah—much. Thank you.”

“Do you need some water?” Ashley asked, rising from the couch before he could even answer. She brought him back a cold bottle that helped numb his burning throat.

“I should probably get back to work,” Ashley said, rueful smile on her face. “Is there anything else you need?”

Kris smiled at her, feeling too overwhelmingly grateful for their friendship to do anything else. “Just a hug.”

They shared a tight embrace for a moment, and Kris felt giddy love adoration for the girl. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. “Thank you for everything, Ash.”

“Anytime, Kris,” Ashley said, smiling at him and drawing away. “Remember that—I’m here if you need anything. Just shoot me a text.”

“Will do.”

Ashley started making her way to the door. “And don’t take too long getting better, okay? Work’s really boring without you.”

Kris chuckled. “Don’t worry—you’ll see me soon.” 

“See you, Kris,” Ashley said, swinging open the door.

“Bye, Ashley.”

And with that, Ashley left. 

~*~*~

Seeing Ashley awakened some sort of social energy within Kris that he didn’t know existed. Something about actually speaking to another human and feeling sincere care for them—something Kris hadn’t allowed himself to feel since before he’d started dreaming of Adam—it made him want to reach out to his other loved ones.

For the past week, Kris had isolated himself to the point where Adam was his sole friend. He’d shut out everything and everyone in his life to spend more time with Adam. He’d stopped caring about work and his co-workers, completely neglected his friends outside of work, and had remained stoic around his family when he’d gone to visit them. 

While it certainly wasn’t Adam’s fault, it had yielded some pretty serious consequences for Kris—he craved affection and social contact with his family now more than ever.

Adam’s beseeching of him to say goodbye to his loved ones one last time before offing himself again—that wasn’t even his main intention when he decided to contact his family. Sure, it was convenient that that was one of Adam’s requests, but Kris truly did seek to share a nice conversation with them. 

He didn’t even know if it’d be the last time. Even by his own will, he had no clue—he still had some pretty heavy things to consider before he thought about killing himself again.

Kris hobbled to his bedroom and grabbed his cell phone, doing something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. He actually reached out and contacted his family. Usually they were the first ones to contact him.

He sent a rambling, sappy text to his brother Daniel. He knew that a text like that would typically only be graced with a mocking response from his brother, but given the recent circumstances, he assumed Daniel would take it easy on him. 

“Hey bro, I know this is out of the blue and whatnot but I just wanted you to know that you’re the best brother I could have asked for. I don’t care if you wanna punch me for saying it but I just had to tell you. It’s been a rough week obviously and it’s made me think about stuff—how anything could change in a moment’s notice and all that jazz like ‘carpe diem.’ So this is me seizing the day: I love you man.”

Next, he actually called his mother. He couldn’t remember the last time he did that—maybe in college? Probably when he needed money for something.

Kris put the device on speaker and set the phone on his night-stand so he could move around while still talking to his mother. The stench of vomit was stagnant in the air—he desperately needed to get rid of it.

He greeted his mother while rounding up some paper towels and cleaning the mess on the floor as best as he could. Kris tried not to pay attention to the bottle of pills that still sat on his night-stand, a single pill still sitting beside it, but his mind soon roamed to other places while his mother told him what she did yesterday after he left.

“Your father went to work of course, but Daniel and I hung out a bit—his flight wasn’t until late that night. We went shopping, and I bought him some new clothes. . .”

Kris couldn’t keep his mind off the pills. He knew that if he was truly going to try to kill himself again—and that was a giant ‘If’ in his mind—he would need more than just one pill. He was going to have to find some more.

“That sounds nice, Mom—I know you always say you never see us.”

His eyes fell upon his closet. He knew that tucked away on the top shelf he had a box full of old items from his childhood and teenage years. His mother had kept an extra bottle of pills in the medicine cabinet all those years—surely he’d kept a bottle and stowed them away in that box somewhere.

“You’re right, I never see y’all—moved away to Texas, and you California. For goodness sake, you couldn’t have picked a further state!”

“Hawaii,” Kris teased, crossing the room and reaching on his tip-toes to retrieve the box from his closet. 

With a grunt, he pulled it down, and he immediately dropped it to the ground, forgetting how weak his muscles still were.

“Don’t even joke with me, Kristopher.”

Kris chuckled and started rifling through the box, tossing aside everything that didn’t hold his attention. Movie ticket stubs, his high school yearbooks, old baseball gloves. He kept looking through it, only half paying attention to what he was holding as he spoke to his mother.

“Really though, Mom—I called and I—it’s been a weird week, and I’ve just been thinking about things a lot, you know? All of this has made me realize how anything could happen at any minute, and we can never really prepare for any of it. So I just wanted to say I love you.”

Kris’s hands had reached the bottom of the box. The only thing left was a large, leather-bound photo album. He’d written his name on the cover of it—his mother had made him sign it, although she had been the one to actually put the book together—with the year 1992 right underneath it.

“Oh, sweetie—I love you too, dear. So much—more than the stars in the sky. I’m so glad that something so—well, so awful, quite frankly—has made you look at things with such a positive perspective. I’m so proud of you.”

Kris began flipping through the pages quickly, not really looking to any of the pictures. He needed to look at the book later, when he could devote his full attention to it. 

“Is Dad around? I wanna tell him, too.”

“Actually, he is here. You got lucky—he actually came home for lunch today.”

“Okay. It’ll be quick—I know he hates the phone.”

Neil Allen got on the phone, and Kris quickly repeated the sentiment he’d just given his mother. He had to tell his dad he loved him—he just had to.

“Well, I love you too son. Thanks for calling. See you later.”

“Bye, Dad.”

He was a man of few words. Kris’s mother was back on the phone in no time—but enough time. As soon as he heard his mother take the phone back, Kris landed on a page that immediately drew his attention. 

It was a picture of him and Adam. Up close, Adam’s arm draped over Kris’s shoulder. They were both smiling madly. They both wore party hats. Adam had icing on the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh my God.” A chill ran through Kris’s body, making his hair stand on end.

“What is it, sweetie?”

Kris was silent a minute, trying to compose himself. “Um—well—wow. I’m—well, I’m looking at this old photo album that you made me, and there’s a picture of me and Adam in here.”

“Mhm. Of course—”

“From the party. Blake’s party. The day Adam disappeared.” Kris shivered, forcing out the memories of Adam’s description about that very day.

“Oh, well—yes, Kris. I put those in there. I just thought—well I knew it was a bit morbid, so I asked your dad about it—we decided to keep the picture. Just in case you wanted to remember, you know—the last day you spent with Adam.”

Her tone was sweet but her words left a sour taste in Kris’s mouth. Lip curling into a frown, Kris set the book on the ground and ran a hand over his face. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“Everything okay, honey?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured her and himself. “It was just unexpected—that’s all.”

Kris heard his phone chime, signaling an incoming text message. Twisting his body, he reached up and grabbed the phone from the night-stand. It was his brother.

“What was that sound? That weird dinging?”

“Oh, that was just my phone,” Kris explained. “I just got a text from Dan.”

“Okay, well, I better let you go soon, hadn’t I?”

“Okay, Mom.”

Kris looked down at the message on his screen. “I love you too bro. Here if you need anything. (Delete this text and never tell a soul about it.)” He couldn’t help but snort and shake his head.

“Goodness, I almost forgot! Dr. Sherman e-mailed me earlier today—he said he tried video-calling you a few times but you never got back to him. He just wanted you to check in with him sometime soon.”

New worries started piling up within Kris. Why would Dr. Sherman want to call him? Kris was always the one to contact him first, unless they had a scheduled appointment. 

“I’ll call him ASAP—thanks for letting me know. I just haven’t checked my laptop since I got home so I didn’t even know he’d called.”

After saying their goodbyes and “I love you” a few more times, Kris hung up the phone. He sat there in the floor, back pressed against his night-stand, breathless from the exertion of the conversation he’d just had. 

Seeing the picture of Adam had set him on edge, and now he also had a video chat with Parker to worry about. He knew he had to follow through with it so he didn’t raise any suspicions from his therapist. So he dragged himself off the floor, retrieved his laptop from his suitcase, and started a video call to Dr. Sherman.

If the notification for 5 missed calls wasn’t enough to worry Kris, the hasty pick-up and look of relief on his therapist’s face were. It was obvious that the man was desperate to get in touch with his patient.

“Kris! Hi! I’m so glad to see you again—how are you doing?”

“I’m doing pretty well,” Kris said, purposely ignoring the lingering taste of bile in his mouth. “Um, I didn’t really call for a session or anything—my mom said you needed to get in touch with me?”

“Yes, of course—now I know that you’ve had an intense week, with the funeral taking place, and the dreams that you were having before that, but we’re going to have to schedule an official session for some other time. I’m in between meetings right now, actually, so I don’t have much time.

“I just wanted to let you know, I did some research on the medication you take, since you said you were worried about having more dreams. I was able to confirm that it is safe for you to take a double dosage of pills if you need to. I suggest taking one tonight, and if you have another dream, take two tomorrow, and that should help.

“But since your prescription was almost up, I refilled it and sent you some more pills.”

Kris’s heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

“Yes,” Dr. Sherman confirmed, nodding curtly. “Let’s see—I was going to call you yesterday to tell you—so you should have received them in the mail today.”

Kris fought to keep his face clear of emotions. On the inside, he was screaming. “Oh, okay—I’m almost certain I got it, I was just confused because I thought it was too early for that.”

“I’m sure—that’s why I needed to call you, just to fill you in.”

“Well, thank you so much.”

“Of course, Kris. Just doing my job.”

“Really though, Dr. Sherman—thank you for everything.”

Dr. Sherman smiled at him with adoration—a look Kris had received plenty of times over the years. He’d practically grown up with the man—of course they’d formed a bond.

“You’re welcome, Kris. Now if everything’s okay on your end, I need to let you go soon.”

“I’m good, Parker—I’ll talk to you later.”

Dr. Sherman smiled again. “Goodbye, Kris.”

The instant Dr. Sherman’s chat bubble had left the screen, Kris shoved his laptop to the side, leapt off the bed, and practically sprinted to the kitchen.

Ashley had discarded his mail—four days’ worth, since he’d been too preoccupied to check his mail that week—on the kitchen counter, envelopes heaped upon envelopes heaped upon a small package. 

A box in which its contents could not be mistaken. Kris tore open the package and what was inside fell out into his hand. A pill bottle—full of an entire month’s prescription of sleeping medication.

Kris stared at the bottle and sighed. He had the proper tools now, but was he ready to act?

He had a tough decision to make.

~*~*~

Kris sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard, the bottle of pills lying on the bedsheets in front of him. Beside it he’d set the photo album that his mother had put together. A perfectly symmetrical juxtaposition of the choice he’d have to make: death was in the pills, but his life was in that book.

The time of his life that he never really thought about anymore. The near-decade of his life when he was really, truly happy—his childhood. The part of his childhood when he was friends with Adam, at least. He had not been as content with his life since the day Adam was taken.

Kris flipped through the book, studying each photograph. Each picture taken at a time he barely remembered.

Pictures of him dressed up for church with his brother Daniel, playing with his cousins at Thanksgiving, sitting in his grandfather’s lap at Christmastime. Running around the backyard with Adam, swimming in the Lamberts’ pool, attending Adam’s birthday party. 

Moments captured in time—the innocent joy that had long been forgotten. That is what his life had been like—smiling and laughing and having fun. Kris could have conquered the world as a kid.

But when Adam disappeared, everything changed. Innocence was lost, and nightmares chipped away at his optimism. Therapy started. Worries piled up, on Kris and everyone around him. Playing outside wasn’t fun anymore—it was dangerous.

The pills dulled the fear, only at the price of dulling everything else along with it—the joy and the laughter were muted. The pills left him running through life on autopilot, never certain that he was making the right move—never sure of what he wanted. 

Never sure if he wanted his college girlfriend, so he dumped her. Never sure of what he wanted to do with his life, so he ended up at a crappy editing job in LA, pretending that moving across the country from Arkansas had broadened his horizons and helped him to find himself. 

It hadn’t, of course. He was still stuck in the same rut, just in a different city.

He’d been at a dead-end for years now. There was nowhere else to go, so he kept moving in circles. A dead-end—nothing ahead of him. But was it possible to turn back? 

He leaned over to examine the picture book more closely. The bright grin on his face—could he get that back? Could he somehow get back to being that happy?

After everything that had happened between him and Adam, did Kris have the courage to officially let go of him? Could Kris allow himself to be at peace with the fact that Adam was okay? He had gone through hell, but he was truly in a better place now. Could Kris accept that and move on?

Could he get off the sleeping pills, get out of the funk he was in, and actually discover what he wanted out of life? Could he try to chase after it? Could he try to reach out to his family more, try to reconnect with his friends, and make strives to improve his life? Was all of that possible?

Because that’s what needed to happen. He had to change everything in order to truly change anything in his life. He’d been in a rut for twenty years. And he could trace it back to the exact day—the day Adam disappeared.

In perfect timing with his train of thought, Kris flipped to the picture in the photo album that he’d questioned his mother about earlier. The last photo he had of Adam—the last photo ever taken of Adam, as far as he knew.

Kris lifted the book closer to his face, staring into his own eight-year-old eyes. He assumed this was the last time he’d ever truly been happy—and judging by the look on his face, it was probably the happiest he’d ever been.

A sudden ache tore at his heart as he further examined the picture and considered his fate. Was it possible for him to feel that joy again? That innocent, ecstatic, laugh-until-you-piss-yourself childhood joy that he’d felt—was it only possible when he was with Adam, or could he get there on his own?

More importantly, was Kris willing to sacrifice the chance to ever be that happy with Adam again, in an attempt to make his life better? 

Kris sighed, completely torn. He knew he’d have to leave something behind—either Adam, or his own life—and he didn’t know which would be worse. 

Kris’s eyes slid from his own face in the photograph to Adam’s—and he was suddenly struck with a very strange thought. A thought that had crossed his mind before, but had not carried the same weight that it did right now: the Adam in the picture looked nothing like the Adam in Kris’s dreams.

The bright smile was the same but nothing else—the hair, the build, and his complexion were totally different. Adam’s freckles had either faded with age or he’d covered them with tattoos. His eye color changed depending on what makeup he was wearing. And of course, he appeared twenty years older.

Kris had already known all of this, and he hadn’t given it a second thought before. But now, something about it made him wary. He thought of Adam’s words from earlier: “Why do you think I’m real?”

Why did Kris think he was real? None of it added up. The guy was dead, for Christ’s sake—how did it make any sense for Kris to be seeing him, actually contacting him from the dead, in his dreams? How was it possible for him to be talking to the real Adam?

Unless it was magic. That was why Adam had been trying to pressure Kris into believing in magic during his most recent dream. Like Adam had said, it seemed to be the only explanation. 

Had Kris’s subconscious just been trying to give him a sign that it was all in his head—that none of it was real, and that he shouldn’t kill himself?

He assumed it was possible that skipping his sleeping pills all those nights ago had made him start dreaming—increasingly vivid dreams as the days passed. He assumed it was possible that they’d made him sleepwalk, and he’d carved “Help Me” into his own arm, and just didn’t remember it. 

He assumed it was possible that he’d overheard Damian Black talking about Cassiar Ranch at the birthday party twenty years ago, and he’d suppressed the memory until now, when he called into the police to help them find Adam’s body there.

He assumed it was possible that Adam was all in his head. Not real. Not worth killing himself over.

But that just didn’t seem right. He’d thought that at first—he’d continually told himself that at first, when he’d first had dreams about Adam, that none of it was real. But that was before he’d spent any time with Adam—before he’d hung out with him as a friend just like in the old days. 

Dream-Adam may not look the same but his personality sure hadn’t changed. He and Kris had easily slid back into their close friendship—talking, reminiscing about the past. Listening to albums on Adam’s father’s record player. Seeing Adam perform, just like he used to in his parents’ basement, except this time onstage, in front of an audience of screaming fans. 

He seemed like the same Adam on the inside. And Kris wasn’t so sure his own brain was keen enough to recreate that.

It was too hard to believe any of it was fake. But with the only explanation being magic, it was too hard to believe any of it was real. It was too hard to believe anything anymore.

Kris kept looking at the picture in the photo album. Their smiles—Adam’s, whose was the same now, and his own, which had disappeared when Adam did. 

The joy—how perfect everything had been back then—how great it could be again, if he chose to be with Adam. How great it could be again, if he chose to let Adam go. 

It all came down to him.

What did he believe? Kris looked between the photo album and the bottle of pills lying on his bed-spread. He had a decision to make. He knew if he waited too long, Adam would be gone, and his decision would be made in vain. 

A million questions raced through his mind as his eyes flicked from the picture to the pills—from his life to his death. Was killing himself to be with Adam worth the trouble? If he chose to stay alive, could he get his life back on track? Was it possible for him to feel that childhood happiness again? 

Was any of it real? Was his life promising enough for him to care if it was real?

Kris took a deep breath before asking himself the most important one:

“Do you believe in magic?”

~*~*~

*Flashback to 1992*

“A dream grows wild, in the country. . .”

Elvis Presley’s soulful, slightly static-filled voice rang through the air in Adam’s basement. The rich sound of the record provided more warmth to Adam and Kris than the blankets that they’d wrapped around themselves.

They had turned the volume down on the record player, so as not to disturb Adam’s parents and have them interrupt their sleepover, but that did nothing to diminish the beauty of the song.

“Man, I think this is my favorite record in the world—I’ve listened to almost all of my dad’s collection by now!” Adam was whisper-shouting, he was so animated. “Isn’t that cool, Kris?”

Kris yawned and burrowed deeper into his cocoon of blankets—this was his first sleepover, and he’d never stayed up quite this late before. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“That’s awesome, Adam. I think it’s my favorite song, too. Out of the ones that you’ve played for me.”

“I really like Elvis. You know what my dad told me the other day, though?” Kris just shook his head, his eyes halfway closed. “He told me Elvis died on the toilet!”

Kris couldn’t control the laughter that escaped from his mouth. Adam quickly joined in, and they were soon lost in a fit of giggles. “Nuh-uh! He was lying to you!”

“No, Kris, I’m for real! He said, ‘You know Elvis died on the john?’ and I said, ‘What? You’re joking with me,’ and he said, ‘No, I’m serious.’ Isn’t that just so funny, though?”

Kris gave him a small smile before letting his eyelids droop again, sleepiness taking him over. “It was really funny. Poor guy.”

“Yeah.” Adam looked over toward the record player as it emitted the last few notes of the song. The turntable gave a few final squeaks before it stopped spinning. “You that tired? I guess we can go to sleep now. I’ll just play you some more albums in the morning.”

“It already is morning,” Kris mumbled lazily.

Adam chuckled and slapped his arm playfully. “Whatever, Kris.” He shimmied down into his own sleeping bag. “Sorry we didn’t camp in the backyard like we said we would. My mom was really scaring me with those raccoon stories.”

Kris giggled a little and shook his head. “It’s okay, Adam—I had fun. And it’s probably cold out there anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Adam said, sounding like he was lost in thought. He paused for a moment before speaking again. “You know, you’re my best friend in the whole world, Kris.”

“Same here, Adam.”

“We’re gonna stay best friends, too.”

“Forever,” Kris said, slowly drifting toward sleep. Adam didn’t sound too far from it himself.

“No matter what,” Adam said. “Best friends forever.”

“Best friends, no matter what happens,” Kris said, and he was too tired to notice that it sounded like a promise.

~*~*~

“I spoke to the woman who found him—she said she had gone to check on him, like she had the day before. She brought him some soup because he hadn’t been feeling well then—said she knocked on the door for a while, and she got worried when there was no response. She got the landlord to give her a key to his apartment, and she found him lying on the bed.”

“Jesus Christ—I can’t imagine, I can’t imagine, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe my—God, our son was hurting so badly and we didn’t even know it!”

“Mrs. Allen, I must admit, in a few of our sessions, he mentioned that he’d been having some trouble with the sleeping pills. He’d been having dreams lately, and he just wasn’t used to that. The young lady who found him—she said she noticed him having a scar on his arm, like he’d cut himself. She said he’d spelled the words, ‘Help Me’ on his arm, and he wouldn’t tell her anything about it. I’m afraid to say, the signs of trouble were all there, but they just weren’t apparent. I’m so sorry for your loss, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sherman—but you know we don’t blame you. It was as much our fault as anyone else’s. None of us noticed he was struggling this much. My own baby—I never saw it. He never opened up to you or anyone, and it got to be too much for him. He couldn’t handle everything that was being thrown at him.” 

“It was a rough week for him, no doubt about it—the news about Adam came out, and then Kris had to go home for the funeral. When the anniversary of Adam’s disappearance came around, I guess it was all too much for him. No way it was a coincidence that he picked that day to do it.”

Kim Allen burst into tears. Parker Sherman could hear her sobs through the phone, and he grimaced. Sometimes he was too desensitized to mental illness to realize how nonchalantly he was discussing the topic.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Allen—that was terribly morbid, awfully insensitive of me to bring up right now. . .”

“It’s okay, Parker—the tears come easy these days anyway. I better go, but before I do—are you coming to the ceremony? Visitation is tomorrow, and the funeral’s the next day.”

“Of course I will, Mrs. Allen.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sherman—and thank you for our talk today. I just don’t think I’ll ever get over this—how did Neil and I not notice when our sweet Kris was screaming for our help?”

~*~*~

Kris sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders slumped. His arm was wrapped tightly around his midsection, trying to warm himself up—his entire body felt cold. His other arm was draped over his lap, his fleshy forearm facing upwards.

No scar. His forearm was completely clean.

He knew he was dead. But he had missed Adam. 

When darkness had finally taken him under, he had landed in his own bedroom in his own apartment, unlike the last time, when he was in Adam’s. He had probably left already. 

And Kris didn’t know where Adam’s apartment was, so he couldn’t leave his own to go look for Adam. Even if Adam hadn’t left already, by the time Kris found his apartment, he would most likely be gone.

He’d done it all for nothing. Kris wiped at his face, though no tears came. He felt empty, hollow—he felt like nothing. He was dead, and it had all been a waste. He’d killed himself in vain.

Kris heaved a giant sigh, burying his face in his hands as he did so. What was he supposed to do now? He was completely lost. 

“Whoa—who died?”

Kris immediately spun around at the voice. That voice! It made his heart seize in his chest, his throat constricted—did he dare believe?

Adam stood in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning one shoulder on the doorframe, smirking at him slightly. He looked dreamy, but not dream-like—he looked heavenly, more like it, in his all black attire, like a fallen angel. But more importantly to Kris, he looked real. For the first time in a long time.

Kris couldn’t speak, could only widen his eyes as Adam slowly ambled forward, toward the bed, his leather jacket-clad arms crossed over his chest. “You said your goodbyes this time? You reconsidered two or three times before making your choice?”

“Yeah,” Kris whispered. He cleared his throat. “Nine or ten times, really.”

Adam chuckled. “Took you long enough.”

Kris smiled, his eyes welling with tears as Adam came to a stop right in front of him. Adam was with him—Kris hadn’t missed him. He’d never felt such overwhelming relief.

Adam extended his hand toward Kris and smiled. “You ready to go?”

Kris placed his hand in Adam’s, and his breath hitched as he did it—he really felt him this time. Adam’s hand was big and warm and had more life running through it than ever. 

“Let’s go,” Kris said, allowing Adam to pull him off the bed and lead him out of his bedroom.

Eventually Adam had led Kris outside of his apartment building, and kept walking until they were somewhere Kris didn’t recognize. He had no clue where they were going, but he trusted Adam.

“You just follow me, okay?” Adam said, looking over his shoulder and giving Kris’s hand a quick squeeze.

Kris grinned at Adam, feeling the joyous thrill of adventure send a chill down his spine. He was content like this—they were finally together. Life could be a happy, beautiful dream.

“No matter what,” Kris promised, as they marched on together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick PSA: I would NEVER, EVER endorse or encourage suicide. This is obviously a fictional story, and within the story, it was a logical path for the character to take - but in real life, suicide is NEVER the answer. Just had to include that, because I don't want people to get the wrong idea.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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